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Classics  of  Weird  Literature 


Autographed  by  the  Author 


By  Frank  Owen 


ACCLAIMED  BY  CRITICS  THROUGHOUT  THE  WORLD 


New  York  Times:  "Fanciful,  touched  by  the  super- 
natural, exotic  in  thought  and  coloring.  Flowers,  poems, 
music  and  jade  are  interwoven  with  their  themes  and 
the  effert  is  often  both  quaint  and  charming.” 

The  China  Weekly  Review,  Shanghai,  China;  "Reveals 
a true  sense  of  gentleness,  the  heart  of  a dreamer,  a 
deep  sense  of  rhythm  and  beauty.  He  sees  China  and 
the  Chinese  through  misty,  naive,  sometimes  philo- 
sophic eyes.” 

Honolulu  Star-Bulletin,  Honolulu,  Hawaii:  "They  are 
strange  and  glowing  tales  of  an  unearthly  beauty.  Their 
scenes  are  laid  in  China  but  they  might  be  anywhere. 
They  are  essentially  a part  of  the  history  of  those  lost 
lands  where  Dunsany  s heroes  live  and  die  magnificently 
and  where  Walter  de  la  Mare’s  dark  travelers  knock 
vainly  at  mysterious  moonlit  doors.” 

Ohio  State  Journal,  Columbus,  Ohio:  "There  is  some 
weirdness  here,  some  mystery  and  some  tender  passages, 
enough  of  each  to  make  a superlative  ensemble  that 
won  for  this  author  a secure  place  in  the  field  of  Far 
East  fiaion.” 


Daily  Argus  Leader,  Sioux  Falls,  S.  D.:  "This  is  a 
collection  to  be  read,  laid  down  and  read  again.” 
Wilmington  Every  Evening,  Wilmington,  Del.;  "De- 
serves a place  among  one's  favorite  books.” 

Radio  Station  KDKA,  Pittsburgh : "For  those  who  are 
interested  in  Chinese  literature  and  traditions,  we 
believe  this  book  will  find  a cordial  welcome.  A very 
beautiful  book.” 

The  Globe,  Toronto,  Ont.:  "Dealing  with  curious 
phases  of  Chinese  life,  they  are  imaginative,  colorful 
and  replete  with  poetry.  For  the  first  of  these  qualities 
they  might  be  likened  to  some  of  the  creations  of  Edgar 
Allan  Poe,  but  even  the  weirdest  of  them  possess  a 
tenderness  to  which  Poe  was  a stranger.” 

Arizona  Republican,  Phoenix,  Ariz.:  "It  is  not  often 
that  such  a book,  as  deserving  of  praise  and  as  full  of 
real  literary  merit  as  "The  Wind  That  Tramps  the 
World,”  comes  our  way.  This  sounds  like  effusiveness, 
but  it  isn't.  It’s  merely  giving  credit  for  a real  literary 
achievement.  . . . They  are  masterpieces  of  a rich 
imagination,  deep  and  gripping  ki  their  beauty  and 
romance.” 


SPECIAL  AUTOGRAPHED  FIRST  EDITIONS 


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Remember,  first  edition  copies  grow  more  valuable  with 
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I graphed  first  edition  of — ■ 

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WEIRD  TALES 


289 


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FARNSWORTH  WRIGHT.  Editor. 

Copyright.  1930,  by  the  Popular  Fiction  Publishing  Company 


Contents  for  September,  1930 


Cover  Desi^ C.  C.  Senf 

Illustrating  a scene  in  "The  Invisible  Bond" 

Heliodore's  Beads Marvin  Luter  Hill  292 

Verse 

The  Invisible  Bond Arlton  Eadie  294 

A strange  story  of  wild  horror  was  told  by  the  man  who  was  picked  up 
in  a boat  off  the  African  coast 

The  Invading  Madness H.  F.  Scotten  302 

A world  gone  mad — chaos  and  insanity  broadcast  by  radio — a startling 
weird-scientific  story 

Fungi  From  Yuggoth H.  P.  Lovecraft  322 

Verse;  decoration  by  Hugh  Rankin 


[CONTINUED  ON  NEXT  PAGE] 


290 


OOPYKIOBTED  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN 


[CONTINTJED  FROM  PEECEDING  PAGE] 

Another  Dracula?  (Part  1) Ralph  Milne  Farley  323 

A two-part  serial  about  the  superstitious  vampire-terror  that  held  a 
Pennsylvania  town  in  its  grip 

Ihe  House  of  the  Golden  Eyes Theda  Kenyon  337 

The  author  of  the  book,  "Witches  Still  Live,”  tells  an  eery  tale  of  were- 
wolves 

Guardians  of  the  Guavas Charles  Henry  Mackintosh  345 

A blood-chilling  story  of  the  menehunes  of  Hawaii  and  a plague  of  giant 
centipedes 

A Visitor  From  Egypt Frank  Belknap  Long,  Jr,  356 

Wild  panic  resulted  from  the  visit  to  the  museum  of  this  strange  being 
from  abroad 

The  Phantoms  of  the  Fire Clark  Ashton  Smith  363 

Jonas  McGillicuddy  came  back  to  a flame-swept  world  as  he  turned  his 
steps  homeward 

Earthworms  of  Karma  (Conclusion) Loo  Dexter  367 

A three-part  serial  story  of  a trip  to  Mars  and  weird  adventures  on  that 
planet 

The  Flame  Fiend N.  J.  O’Neail  387 

The  tale  of  a fire  elemental  that  was  a ravening  monster  of  destruction 

Gesture Gertrude  Macaulay  Sutton  393 

A story  of  a strange  psychic  experience  and  a message  from  the  other  side 
that  got  through 

The  Tree  of  Life Paul  Ernst  402 

A peculiar  story  is  this,  about  a tree  whose  leaves  could  revivify  a corpse 

Black  Chant  Imperial Robert  E.  Howard  406 

Verse 

The  Phantom  Bus W,  Elwyn  Backus  407 

A weird  dream  that  interwove  itself  with  the  reality  of  everyday  life — a 
tale  of  tragedy 

Weird  Story  Reprint: 

Beyond  the  Door Paul  Suter  411 

A story  reprinted  from  WEIRD  Tales  of  seven  years  ago — a hideous  ob- 
session that  led  to  death 

The  Eyrie 421 

A chat  with  the  readers 


For  Advertifiii^r  in  WEIRD  TALKS  Apply  Dlroct  to 

WEIRD  TALES 

Western  Advertising:  Office:  Eastern  Advertising  Offices 

HARLEY  L.  WARD,  INC.,  Mgr.  GEORGE  W.  STEARNS,  Mgr. 

360  N.  Michigan  Ave.  Flatiron  Building 

Chicago,  111.  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Phone,  Central  6269  Phone,  Algonquin  8328 


2S1 


HELIODORE’S  BEADS 

By  MARVIN  LUTER  HILL 

The  beads  of  crystal  talked  to  me: 

"We  rested  there  two  thousand  years 
About  her  throat  of  ivory, 

And  dripping  down  her  breast,  like  tears — 

The  sweet  young  breasts  of  Heliodore, 

Witli  her  black  tresses  weighted  o’er. 

Though  dead,  she  walked  upon  the  shore; 

We  saw  her  raise  her  golden  eyes 
To  the  pale  beauty  of  the  skies. 

"In  sleepy  dreams,  in  sleepy  dreams, 

We  saw  her  dancing  on  moonbeams 
Below  the  carved  balustrade. 

In  le\'el  light  the  river  swayed — 

Black-amber,  melting  into  jade. 

Her  breath  was  sweet  with  ambergris, 

Her  hair  a thick  coil  of  the  dusk; 

Her  garments  breathed  a winy  musk. 

The  darkness  swooned  upon  her  kiss. 

And  then  she  would  come  back,  once  more. 

And  lie  down  softly,  as  before. 

"’The  thick  years  gathered;  silence  lay 
Upon  us,  like  an  earthy  pall; 

We  slept  and  dreamed  the  years  away — 

Slept,  woke,  nor  could  remember  all. 

We  saw  her  climb  the  garden  wall; 

Her  jeweled  fingers  made  a gleam 
On  the  black  amber  of  the  stream; 

We  heard  the  silver  paddles  fall. 

As  the  long  boat  leaped  out;  she  sent 
It  down  to  where  the  low  waves  went 
In  idle  lapping;  one  was  there 
Who  kissed  the  star-gleams  from  her  eyes. 

And  kissed  the  jewels  from  her  hair, 

As  the  red  moon  climbed  up  the  skies. 

'"The  years  were  bats,  that  beat  upon 
Tlie  mufiled  heart  and  fragile  bone; 

And  we  dreamed  on,  and  on,  and  on. 

And  on — until  our  dreams  were  stone.” 


292 


Next  Month 

A group  of  amazingly  fine  stories  is  to  appear  in  the  October  issue  of  W&IBD  Tai.es, 

on  sale  September  1. 


The  House  of  the  Skull 

by  Arlton  Eadie 

Ghastly  rites  were  performed  in  the  green  temple  behind  the 
big  house— a weird  mystery  story  of  thrills  and  terrors. 


The  Druid's  Shadow 

by  Seabury  Quinn 

A thrilUtaie  of  Druid  sacriflce  under  the 
weird  oak  trees  of  Wales — a smashing  story 
about  Jules  de  Grandin,  occultist  and  ghost- 
breaker. 


The  Portal  to- Power 

by  Greye  La  Spina 

A thrilling  weird  serial  about  a cult  of  devil- 
worshippers  in  a hidden  valley  in  the  Kocky 
Mountains — by  the  author  of  **Invader8  From 
the  Dark.** 


The  Grave  at  Goonhilly 

by  G.  G.  Pendarves 

A wild  and  terrible  fate  befell  Donald  Harkness  as  he  drove 
his  golf  ball  off  the  fifth  tee — a tale  of  Valsume  the  Black 
Magician  and  the  wresting  of  a man's  soul  from  his  body. 


The  Silver  Curse 
of  YarUk 

by  V.  K,  Kaledin 

A thrilling  weird  tale  of  an  old  monastery — 
a gruesome  incident  of  the  war  between  Po- 
land and  the  Soviets. 


The  Mind-Master 

by  Edmond  Hamilton 

A powerful,  gripping  weird-scientific  story  of 
a scientist  who  sought  to  enslave  the  world  to 
his  ambition. 


The  Bride  WeU 

by  David  H.  Keller 

A whimsical  story  of  Cecil,  the  Overlord  of  Oornwall.  and 
how  he  won  his  beauteous  bride. 


--WIlMe- 


These  are  some  of  the  super-excellent  stories  that  will  appear  in  the  October  issue 

of  Weied  Tales 


October  Issue  on  Sale  September  1 


Subscription  Rates:  ft, 60  a year  in  U.  S.  or  possessions:  Canadian  13.00: 
Wbibo  Tales  840  N.  Mldilgan  Ave. 


Poreign  $3.50, 
Chicago,  lU, 


The  stranger  first  hove  into  sight 
through  the  faint,  coppery  haze 
of  the  African  dawn.  His  craft 
was  a native  dugout  canoe,  looted,  we 
subsequently  discovered,  from  one  of  the 
villages  on  the  coast  which  lay,  a line  of 
pale  purple,  about  four  miles  off  our  port 
beam.  So  feeble  were  his  paddle-strokes 
against  the  set  of  the  inshore  current  that 
it  was  some  time  before  I realized  that 
he  was  heading  for  our  ship;  it  was  only 
when  he  stood  up  waving  his  tattered 
coat  that  I imderstood  his  plight  and 
rang  off  the  engines  to  enable  a boat  to 
be  lowered. 

The  West  G)ast  of  Africa  is  not  what 
you  might  term  a health  resort,  but  I had 
294 


never  seen  such  a physical  wreck,  even 
there,  as  the  man  who  was  presently 
hoisted  over  the  side  of  my  ship.  Fever 
he  had  as  a matter  of  course;  he  was  bad- 
ly wounded  as  well,  and  bore  signs  of 
privation  which  seemed  to  indicate  a long 
tramp  through  the  bush.  Yet  his  bodily 
condition,  desperate  though  it  was, 
seemed  hardly  sufiScient  to  account  for  the 
look  of  agony  and  horror  in  his  sunken, 
bloodshot  eyes. 

"Where  are  you  heading  for.  Cap- 
tain?” were  his  first  words  as  he  reached 
the  deck. 

"Lagos,”  I answered,  shortly  enough, 
naturally  supposing  him  to  be  some 
beach-comber  down  on  his  luck. 


"Direa?”  he  asked. 

I shook  my  head.  "We  stop  at  about 
a dozen  faaories  on  the  way  down  to  take 
off  trade.” 

"I’ll  make  it  worth  your  while  to  cut 
out  the  trade  and  head  direa  for  Lagos,” 
the  stranger  said.  "I  am  Lord  Clen- 
garth.” 

For  a moment  I thought  the  man  was 
indulging  in  grim  satire.  Of  course  one 
meets  with  some  curious  examples  of  hu- 
man flotsam  on  the  African  seaboard,  but 


that  tattered  scarecrow’s  claim  to  be  a 
member  of  the  British  peerage  was  too 
tough  to  be  swallowed  offhand. 

"My  steam  yacht  was  wrecked  in  the 
Bight  some  six  weeks  ago,”  he  went  on. 
"She  strudk  an  uncharted  reef  and  only 
one  boat  managed  to  get  away.  At  pres- 
ent I think  I’m  the  sole  survivor.  I’ve 
had  an  awful  time  in  the  bush.  Captain, 

an  awful  time ” 

Then  he  cut  short  the  palaver  by  pitch- 
ing forward  on  the  deck-planks  in  a dead 

295 


296 


WEIRD  TALES 


faint.  We  carried  him  below,  and  for 
the  next  few  days  he  hovered  between 
life  and  death.  During  his  intervals  of 
consciousness  he  told  me  his  story,  but 
not  in  exactly  the  same  order  as  here  set 
down.  I had  to  piece  the  tale  together 
from  his  disjointed  utterances,  and  some 
of  the  details  he  did  not  divulge  until  he 
realized  that  he  was  not  going  to  pull 
through.  Here  is  his  story; 

1 SUPPOSE  that,  from  a theoretical  point 
of  view,  every  soul  on  board  the  Prim- 
rose should  have  been  saved  [the  strang- 
er began  by  stating].  When  she  struck, 
the  sea  was  calm,  the  glass  steady,  and 
the  land  within  easy  rowing  distance.  If 
I had  but  had  the  sense  to  have  shipped 
white  firemen  I might  have  a different 
story  to  tell.  It  was  the  lascars  who 
started  the  trouble.  They  swarmed  up 
from  the  stokehold  the  moment  they  felt 
the  yacht  take  the  reef,  brained  the  chief 
engineer  when  he  attempted  to  handle 
the  reversing-gear,  and  then  started  in  to 
loot  the  ship. 

We  had  to  hold  them  back  with  our 
revolvers  while  we  got  my  niece — ^the 
only  lady  on  board — into  the  lifeboat.  It 
was  well  for  us  that  we  lost  no  time  in 
doing  so.  Barely  had  we  got  two  cables’ 
length  from  the  yacht  than  the  water 
reached  the  undrawn  fires,  exploding  the 
boilers  and  sending  her  to  the  bottom 
like  a stone. 

Kemp,  the  second  mate,  who  was  in 
charge,  at  once  put  the  lifeboat  about,  but 
the  only  man  we  picked  up  was  so  badly 
injured  that  he  died  before  we  reached 
the  shore.  It  was  while  he  was  being 
lifted  into  the  boat  that  I discovered  that 
Lady  Elna  was  wounded.  One  of  the 
lascars  had  flung  a knife,  infliaing  a deep 
gash  in  her  left  shoulder,  from  which  the 
blood  was  pouring.  Luckily  the  ship’s 
surgeon.  Dr.  Tremaine,  was  in  the  boat 
wiA  us.  He  at  once  set  about  rendering 


first  aid,  but  it  was  clear  that  an  impor- 
tant artery  had  been  severed  and  that  the 
girl’s  condition  was  grave. 

Poor  Elna!  The  voyage  which  had  end- 
ed so  tragically  had  been  planned  as  a 
honeymoon  trip,  for  she  had  but  recently 
been  married  to  young  Sir  Leslie  Fan- 
shaw,  who  was  also  among  the  survivors. 

There  were  seven  of  us,  all  told,  in  the 
lifeboat,  the  others  being:  the  second 
mate  Kemp,  Dr.  Tremaine,  myself,  a sa- 
loon steward  named  Leon,  and  the  in- 
jured seaman,  whose  name  I never  learnt. 
The  craft  was  by  no  means  overloaded, 
and  we  experienced  no  difficulty  in  reach- 
ing the  shore.  After  waiting  some  time 
for  a "smooth,”  Kemp  put  her  head  to 
the  rollers  and  we  flashed  through  the 
broken  water  toward  the  beach. 

We  had  almost  reached  it,  and  I was 
just  about  to  congratulate  myself  on  a 
safe  landing,  when  a sudden  shock 
seemed  to  jar  every  bone  in  my  body. 
'The  boat  had  strudc  a submerged  mass 
of  cpral,  and  the  force  of  the  impaa  had 
impaled  it  so  firmly  on  the  sharp,  up- 
standing prongs  that  the  backwash  left  it 
stranded  high  and  dry.  We  had  gained 
the  shore  safely,  but  the  boat  was  wrecked 
beyond  repair. 

We  carried  the  now  unconscious  Elna 
above  the  high-water  mark  and  laid  her 
down  in  the  shade  of  a tree,  and  Kemp 
lost  no  time  in  making  a survey  of  our 
immediate  surroundings. 

"There  are  several  threads  of  smoke 
rising  above  the  bush  over  yonder,”  he 
announced,  staring  through  his  binocu- 
lars. "It’s  a native  village,  or  at  least  an 
encampment  of  some  sort.  We’d  better 
make  for  it.  The  coast  natives  have  the 
reputation  of  being  fairly  peaceable,  but 
you  never  can  be  sure  of  ’em.  Be  on 
your  guard  against  treachery,  but  don’t 
shoot  except  as  a last  resort.” 

It  turned  out  to  be  the  usual  type  of 
coast  village  of  about  a hundred  beehive 


THE  INVISIBLE  BOND 


297 


mud  huts,  with  a larger  one — the  fetish 
hut — standing  a little  apart.  The  natives 
seemed  friendly  enough.  They  brought 
us  food  and  gave  up  two  of  the  huts  for 
our  use.  They  even  carried  their  good 
intentions  so  far  as  to  summon  the  local 
medicine-man  to  cure  Elna’s  woimd.  Of 
course  we  had  not  the  slightest  intention 
of  allowing  him  to  praaise  his  hocus- 
pocus  on  her,  but  I thought  it  policy  to 
decline  his  services  in  such  a way  as  to 
avoid  giving  offense.  These  witch-doc- 
tors have  unlimited  influence  over  their 
devotees,  even  to  matters  of  life  and 
death,  and  heaven  alone  knew  how  long 
we  should  have  to  remain  there  before 
we  could  signal  a passing  steamer  to  take 
us  off. 

The  moment  I caught  sight  of  the 
witch-doaor  I could  tell  that  he  was  of 
a different  race  from  the  rest  of  the  na- 
tives. It  is  rarely  that  you  meet  a Masai 
on  the  coast,  but  this  man,  whose  name 
was  N’Zahgi,  had  evidently  been  some- 
thing of  a traveler.  According  to  his  own 
account  he  had  served  on  steamships  and 
had  visited  Europe  more  than  once,  and 
he  spoke  English  quite  well.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  judge  the  age  of  a native,  but  I 
estimated  that  he  was  about  thirty-five; 
he  was  tall  and  well  built,  and  he  evident- 
ly possessed  xmusual  bodily  strength.  On 
the  whole  I was  rather  favorably  im- 
pressed by  the  man,  and  I felt  that  we 
were  lucky  in  having  fallen  in  with  him. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  Elna’s  wound,  my 
mind  would  have  been  fairly  easy.  But 
her  co'ndition  grew  rapidly  worse,  until, 
two  days  after  our  landing.  Dr.  Tremaine 
took  me  aside  and  proposed  a desperate 
expedient. 

■'There  is  only  one  way  of  giving  your 
niece  a chance  of  pulling  through,”  he 
told  me,  "and  that  is  by  performing  an 
operation  which  is  very  rarely  praaised, 
and  then  only  as  a last  resort.  I refer  to 
the  transfusion  of  blood.  Unless  the 


blood  of  some  healthy  person  is  con- 
veyed into  the  depleted  veins  of  the 
woxmded  girl  she  must  surely  die.” 

Somewhat  surprized,  I asked  him  if 
he  thought  it  possible  to  perform  such  an 
operation. 

"Yes,”  was  his  confident  answer,  "pro- 
vided, of  course,  that  there  is  someone 
willing  to  give  the  necessary  blood.” 

"If  that  is  your  only  difficulty,  you  can 
get  ready  now,”  I said.  "I  will  give 
mine.” 

But  the  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"I  fear  you  are  rather  too  old  for  such 
a thing.  It  doesn’t  pay  to  play  tricks 
with  the  vital  fluid  of  a man  on  the  wrong 
side  of  fifty.  It  would  be  merely  ex- 
changing one  life  for  another.” 

’"Then  how  about  her  husband.  Sir 
Leslie?”  I asked.  "He  is  young  enough, 
and  I know  he  would  volunteer  like  a 
shot.” 

Again  the  doaor  shook  his  head. 

"Sir  Leslie  is  down  with  fever  and  as 
weak  as  a kitten.  He  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion.” 

"Kemp,  the  second  mate,  might  be 
willing,”  I suggested. 

"Like  yourself,  he  is  far  too  old.” 

I thought  for  a moment. 

"Then  there  only  remains  the  steward, 
Leon ” 

"Impossible,”  interrupted  Dr.  Tre- 
maine with  a shake  of  his  head  that  was 
more  decisive  than  before.  "That  man 
is  totally  unfit  for  such  a thing.” 

I groaned  aloud  in  my  despair. 

"Then  the  operation  can  not  be  per- 
formed. Elna  must  die.” 

In  the  dead  silence  which  followed  my 
utterance  there  came  a sound  of  rustling 
among  the  foliage  of  the  fringe  of  red 
aloes  near  by;  then  the  leaves  parted  and 
N’Zahgi  appeared.  For  a moment  I 
stared  at  him  speechlessly;  then  indigna- 
tion toc^  die  place  of  surprize. 


298 


WEIRD  TALES 


"N’Zahgi!”  I aied.  "You  were  hid- 
ing— listening ’ ’ 

"And  I overheard  every  word.”  The 
Masai  drew  himself  up,  fearless  and  un- 
abashed as  he  made  die  cool  admission. 
Then  he  came  a pace  nearer  and  laid  his 
hand  on  my  arm  as  he  went  on  earnest- 
ly: "But  there  is  no  need  for  the  Lady 
Elna  to  die.  I,  N’Zahgi,  will  save  her!” 

In  spite  of  the  heaviness  of  my  heart 
I laughed  aloud. 

"And  how  do  you  propose  to  set 
about  it?”  I cried  with  bitter  sarcasm. 
"By  muttering  your  gibberish  charms  and 
sacrificing  a chicken  or  two?” 

"No,  white  man — by  giving  my  own 
blood  to  save  her.” 

"You?”  I gasped. 

"Why  not?”  He  asked  the  question 
with  a kind  of  simple  dignity.  "Although 
my  skin  is  black  and  hers  is  white,  the 
blood  which  flows  beneadi  is  the  same.  My 
body  is  strong — not  weakened  by  fever 
like  the  white  man’s.  Lady  Elna  needs 
blood — then  take  of  mine  as  much  as 
you  will.  I give  it  freely  that  she  may 
live.” 

My  first  impulse  was  to  return  a def- 
inite refusal;  every  instina  seemed  to  cry 
out  against  allowing  a white  girl  to  have 
infused  into  her  veins  the  blood  of  a 
naked  savage.  Dir.  Tremaine  must  have 
guessed  what  was  passing  in  my  mind, 
for  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  be- 
fore I could  speak. 

"After  all,  it  is  her  only  chance  of 
life,”  he  said  gently. 

I tried  to  force  my  mind  to  grapple 
with  the  problem,  but  in  vain.  'Then 
across  the  black  chaos  of  my  indecision 
there  came  a gleam  of  hope. 

"Sir  Leslie — her  husband — ^he  must  de- 
cide,” I cried. 

Tremaine  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"I  fear  that  he  is  not  in  a condition 
either  to  give  his  consent  or  withhold  it,” 


he  said.  "His  fever  is  now  at  its  heigjit, 
and  he  is  delirious.  It  is  you  who  must 
decide,  and  quickly,  too.  Come,  what  is 
your  answer?” 

For  a while  I stood  silent,  my  mind 
torn  by  indecision,  a vague  foreboding  of 
coming  evil  in  my  heart.  At  last  I bowed 
my  head  in  assent. 

"Let  the  thing  be  done,”  I said.  "And 
may  God  forgive  me  if  I have  decided 
wrong.” 

Right  from  the  moment  that  the  oper- 
. ation  was  completed  there  seemed  to 
be  no  doubt  as  to  its  complete  success. 
As  I watched  the  warm  color  returning 
to  Elna’s  waxen  cheeks  I felt  my  former 
vague  fears  vanishing. 

"You  have  saved  her  life,  N’Zahgi,” 
I cried,  impulsively  turning  to  the  witch- 
doctor, who  was  standing  in  the  center  of 
the  hut  while  Tremaine  fixed  a bandage 
over  the  incision  in  his  arm.  "How  can 
I reward  you?  I will  take  you  to  England 
— I will  make  you  rich  for  life.” 

N’Zahgi  folded  his  arms  across  his 
massive  chest  as  he  shook  his  head. 

"I  do  not  want  your  money,  white 
man,  nor  do  I wish  to  visit  your  land 
again,”  he  returned  with,  it  seemed,  a 
hint  of  contempt  in  his  voice. 

'"Then  how  can  I repay  you?”  I in- 
sisted, puzzled  not  a little  by  his  manner. 

For  a full  minute  the  Masai  remained 
silently  pondering.  Then  he  raised  his 
head. 

"Soon  will  I name  my  reward  — and 
claim  it,  too!  Till  then  farewell,  white 
man.  N’Zahgi  has  spoken.” 

As  he  quitted  the  hut  he  turned,  and 
for  a moment  his  dark  eyes  rested  on  the 
sleeping  girl  in  a manner  I did  not  like. 

During  the  ensuing  three  weeks  we 
took  it  in  turns  to  keep  a contin- 
uous lookout  from  the  vantage-point  of 
a little  rocky  hill  near  the  village,  but  no 


THE  INVISIBLE  BOND 


299 


distant  plume  of  smoke  on  the  horizon 
rewarded  our  vigil. 

Lady  Elna’s  condition  continued  stead- 
ily to  improve;  so  much  so,  that  I more 
than  once  proposed  that  we  should  at- 
tempt to  make  our  way  along  the  coast  in 
the  hope  of  reaching  Accra,  or  some  other 
town  within  British  territory. 

At  first  the  others -overruled  my  ad- 
vice, but  as  day  followed  day  with  the 
circle  of  the  horizon  void  and  empty,  the 
rest  gradually  began  to  come  round  to 
my  views,  finally  going  so  far  as  to  con- 
sult N’Zahgi  in  the  hope  of  his  consent- 
ing to  provide  us  with  guides  and  bearers 
for  the  journey.  But  the  wily  savage 
counseled  delay. 

"Why  face  the  danger  and  fatigue  of 
a journey  through  strange  tribes?”  he 
said.  '"'J^y  not  stay  here  in  safety  and 
comfort  till  a ship  passes?” 

The  second  mate  greeted  this  advice 
with  a dubious  growl. 

"That’s  all  very  well — provided  ships 
do  occasionally  pass  near  enough  to  be 
sighted,”  he  said,  running  his  hand 
through  his  gray  beard.  "But  if  the  coast 
is  dangerous  we  might  cool  our  heels  here 
forever.” 

The  witch-doaor  shrugged  his  massive 
shoulders. 

"At  least  you  must  stay  here  until  the 
moon  is  at  its  full,”  he  said.  "Then  you 
may  go.” 

Sir  Leslie  looked  at  the  man  sharply. 
Ever  since  he  had  learnt  the  part  that 
N’Zahgi  had  played  in  his  young  wife’s 
recovery  Leslie  had  taken  a violent  dis- 
like to  the  savage. 

"Why  must  we  wait  here  until  it  is  full 
moon?”  he  demanded  suspiciously. 

Again  N’Zahgi  shrugged. 

"It  is  merely  one  of  the  superstitions  of 
the  ignorant  black  man,”  he  explained 
smoothly.  "They  consider  it  a night  of 
good  omen.” 

And,  for  the  first  time  since  we  had 


met,  I noticed  that  the  witch-doctor 
smiled. 

WHILE,  a few  days  later,  Tremaine 
and  I were  sitting  in  our  hut,  he 
made  a somewhat  startling  remark.  j 
"Have  you  noticed  the  manner  in 
which  our  esteemed  devil-doaor  has  been 
behaving  lately?”  he  began  by  asking. 
"He  seems  to  be  getting  too  fond  of 
parading  his  authority,  and  generally  aa- 
ing  the  guardian  angel  over  Lady  Elna. 

I am  far  from  forgetting  that  he  prac- 
tically saved  the  girl’s  life;  but  I don’t 
like  his  manner,  nevertheless.  If  it 
\veren’t  for  the  utter  absurdity  of  the 
thing.  I’d  be  inclined  to  say  that  he  has 
fallen  in  love  with  her.” 

In  spite  of  the  faa  that  his  words  con- 
firmed my  own  impressions,  I tried  to 
treat  the  matter  lightly. 

"By  the  way,”  Tremaine  went  on, 
"did  you  notice  those  strange  marks  on 
the  fellow’s  chest?” 

I nodded.  "I  thought  they  were  the 
scars  of  old  wounds.” 

"You’ re  wrong.  Kemp  has  traded  along 
the  coast  for  years,  and  he  tells  me  that 
they  are  the  signs  of  a secret  society 
called  the  Ghu-Fanti,  otherwise  the  'Red 
Drinkers’.” 

"Sounds  like  the  name  of  a Russian 
boozing  club,”  I suggested  flippantly. 

"If  what  Kemp  says  is  true,  it  is  far 
from  being  a laughing  matter  for  us,” 
said  the  doaor  gravely.  "He  has  been 
telling  me  of  some  of  the  rites  of  their 
secret  and  obscure  cult.  I do  not  wish  to 
harrow  your  feelings,  but  I may  tell  you 
that  the  sacrifice  of  human  victims  is  one 
of  the  least  revolting  of  their  ceremonies. 
I am  not  over-squeamish  on  the  subject  of 
anatomy,  but  some  of  the  things  Kemp 
desaibed  nearly  made  me  sick.” 

"Probably  he  was  twisting  your  ankle 
— old  sailors  are  adepts  at  that  form  of 
amusement.  Anyway,  N’Zahgi’s  doings 


300 


WEIRD  TALES 


will  not  interest  us  after  the  next  twenty- 
four  hours  are  past.”  I pointed  upward 
to  where  a pale  yellow  light  was  stealing 
through  the  massive  tree  trunks  and  fes- 
tooned vines  of  the  jungle.  "N’Zahgi 
has  promised  that  we  shall  leave  here  on 
the  night  of  the  first  full  moon,  and  un- 
less I am  out  of  my  reckoning  it  will  be  at 
its  full  tomorrow  night.” 

As  I spoke  the  words  I became  aware 
of  the  deep  note  of  a native  drum  sound- 
ing in  the  far  distance. 

ON  THE  following  day  I had  no  soon- 
er taken  up  my  post  on  the  little 
knoll  which  served  as  a lookout  post  than 
I heard  a frenzied  shout  coming  from  the 
direaion  of  the  huts. 

"Where’s  Lady  Elna?  I can’t  find  her 
anywhere — she  has  vanished!” 

I at  once  left  my  post  and  hastened 
toward  the  white-faced  and  gesticulating 
Leslie,  and  at  the  same  moment  Dr.  Tre- 
maine and  the  mate  appeared  at  the  door 
of  the  other  hut.  By  their  bewildered 
looks  it  was  evident  that  his  shout  had 
roused  them  from  their  afternoon  siesta. 

"Oh,  there’s  probably  nothing  to  get 
alarmed  about,”  said  the  doaor,  when  he 
learnt  the  cause  of  the  summons.  "She 
may  have  wandered  into  one  of  the  other 
huts.”  He  looked  toward  the  village  as 
he  spoke,  and  the  words  died  away  on  his 
lips. 

At  this  time  of  the  day  it  was  cus- 
tomary for  scores  of  women  to  be  seated 
before  the  doors  of  the  huts,  grinding 
com,  weaving  native  fiber  cloth,  or  busy 
at  the  numerous  menial  tasks  which  their 
lords  deemed  it  beneath  their  dignity  to 
perform.  But  now  not  one  was  to  be 
seen.  Even  the  naked  babies  who  usually 
sprawled  in  the  sun  were  gone.  More 
significant  still,  the  cooking-fires  had  been 
allowed  to  go  out — a most  unusual  oc- 
currence. 

"Why,  the  place  is  empty!”  Kemp 


shouted.  "Every  blamed  nigger  has  slung 
his  hook.  What’s  in  the  wind  now.?” 

In  the  dead  silence  which  followed, 
every  man’s  eyes  sought  and  searched  his 
neighbor’s  face,  trying  to  guess  his 
thoughts,  not  daring  to  voice  his  own. 

It  was  the  doctor  who  spoke  first.  "I 
don’t  like  the  look,  of  this  at  all,”  he 
muttered;  then:  “And  where’s  the  stew- 
ard got  to.?” 

A single  glance  was  sufficient  to  show 
that  he  was  not  in  the  huts,  neither  did 
our  loud  and  repeated  shouts  cause  him 
to  make  his  appearance. 

"Come  to  think  of  it,  I haven’t  seen  the 
fellow  since  last  night,”  said  the  mate 
thoughtfully.  "Just  as  the  moon  was  ris- 
ing I saw  him  come  out  of  his  hut  and 
walk  toward  the  path  that  leads  into 
the  bush.  I thought  that  he,  like  myself, 
could  not  sleep  because  of  that  infernal 
,drum — ^it  was  sounding  all  night  long, 
you  remember.” 

"Yes — and  it’s  sounding  now,”  inter- 
rupted Tremaine,  holding  up  his  hand. 
"Listen!” 

Far  away,  deep  in  the  trackless  jungle, 
the  savage  tom-toms  were  again  lifting 
up  their  weird  and  tuneless  voices.  One 
is  apt  to  get  queer  ideas  in  moments  of 
mental  stress;  to  me  the  barbaric  music 
seemed  the  essence  and  embodiment  of 
the  very  soul  of  Africa — fierce,  mystic, 
unknowable. 

A sudden  frightened  oath  from  Kemp 
roused  me  from  my  revery. 

'"rhere’s  devil’s  work  going  on  over 
there!”  he  cried,  waving  his  hand  toward 
the  dense  woods.  "It’s  the  call  of  the 
Ghu-Fanti  that  they’re  sounding.  It’s  the 
sununons  of  the  'Red  Drinkers’ — the  in- 
vitation to  the  feast  of  blood!” 

The  memory  of  our  search  through 
the  tunnel-like  trails  of  that  steam- 
ing jungle  remains  in  my  mind  like  a 
hideous  nightmare.  We  divided  our 


THE  INVISIBLE  BOND 


301 


forces,  Kemp  and  the  nearly  distraught 
Leslie  taking  one  direaion,  and  the  doc- 
tor and  myself  another.  For  a long  time 
after  leaving  the  others  we  walked  in 
silence,  and  when  Tremaine  at  last  spoke 
it  was  to  ask  a question. 

"Has  it  not  struck  you  as  being  curious 
that  we  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  a strug- 
gle or  cry  when  Lady  Elna  was  carried 
off.?” 

I paused  in  my  stride  and  glanced  at 
him.  There  seemed  some  veiled  meaning 
behind  his  casual  tone. 

"The  poor  girl  may  have  been  taken 
unawares,”  I answered.  "She  may  have 
been  drugged — or  stunned ” 

"Or  she  may  have  gone  off  of  her  own 
accord!”  he  said  grimly. 

His  suggestion  appeared  so  ridiculous 
that  I did  not  deem  it  worthy  of  an  an- 
swer, and  after  that  we  continued  our 
search  in  silence.  But  the  farther  we  pen- 
etrated, the  more  dense  the  jungle  be- 
came; the  bright  sunlight  barely  managed 
to  trickle  through  the  interlaced  mass  of 
twisted  lianas  over  the  narrow  trail;  on 
each  side  the  foliage  formed  a dense 
wall  of  green.  In  that  leafy  labyrinth  a 
wedc  might  have  been  expended  in 
searching  one  square  mile.  When  at 
nightfall  we  made  our  way  back  to  the 
deserted  village  I was  not  surprized  to 
hear  that  Kemp  and  Leslie  had  the  same 
tale  of  failure  to  report. 

By  this  time  the  distress  of  the  young 
husband  was  pitiful  to  wimess.  It  was  in 
vain  that  I urged  on  him  the  necessity  of 
taking  food  and  rest. 

"At  least  wait  till  daybreak  before 
setting  out  again,”  I almost  begged  of 
him.  "If  we  could  not  find  her  by  day- 
light, what  chance  have  we  of  doing  so 
in  the  dark?” 

"Elna — my  Elna!”  It  went  to  my  heart 
to  hear  the  hopeless  anguish  in  his'  voice. 
"Can’t  you  realize  that  she’s  somewhere 


out  there — alone — helpless-r-perhaps  a 
prisoner?  God!  when  I think  what  might 
be  happening  I feel  I’m  going  crazy!  I 
must  go  to  her — save  her!  Eat? — food 
would  choke  mC^.  Sleep? — I feel  as  if  I 
shall  never  sleep  again.  I must  rescue 
her  from  those  devils — I must,  I tell  you, 
I must!” 

"Very  well,  then,”  I answered,  rising 
to  my  feet  and  taking  up  one  of  the 
rifles.  "Since  you  are  determined  to  go, 
I will  go  with  you.”  As  a matter  of  faa, 
the  boy  was  in  such  a state  that  I dared 
not  leave  him  to  himself. 

The  rays  of  the  full  moon  were  strug- 
gling through  the  thidc  foliage  as 
we  plunged  almost  at  random  into  one 
of  the  jungle  trails.  'The  nig^it  air  was 
laden  with  the  odor  of  warm,  moist 
earth;  the  velvety  black  shadows  on  each 
hand  were  populous  with  animal  life. 
Vague  rustlings  and  sudden  scurryings 
soimded  ever  and  again  from  the  dark- 
ness, and  once  a sudden  loud  crashing 
told  of  the  blundering  retreat  of  some 
larger  animal  disturbed  by  our  footsteps. 
Farther  off,  the  dog-like  balking  of  a 
herd  of  zebras  drifted  to  our  ears,  sinking 
into  sudden  stillness  as  a lion’s  roar  vi- 
brated through  the  air.  Overhead,  some 
night-bird  uttered  a wail  like  that  of  a 
tortured  soul. 

Then,  without  warning,  a sound  of 
another  kind  floated  out  of  the  mystery 
of  the  African  night.  Leslie  heard  it 
first,  and  clutched  my  arm  with  a grip 
that  made  me  wince. 

’"The  drums!”  There  was  a fierce,  joy- 
ous elation  in  his  voice  as  he  repeated  the 
words.  "'The  drums — they  will  lead  us 
to  her!” 

Changing  direction,  we  soon  had  the 
satisfaction  of  hearing  the  low  throbbing 
swell  louder,  showing  that  we  were  head- 
ing direaly  for  the  spot  whence  the  sound 
(Continued  on  page  399) 


The  long  corridor  with  its  banked 
tiers  of  barbed  cells  stretched 
away  before  the  visitor  in  a seem- 
ingly endless  vista.  From  all  parts  of  the 
great  institution  came  a medley  of  sounds 
— inarticulate  babblings,  cries,  shrieks, 
snatches  of  insane  song  and  oratory — the 
voices  of  the  unfortunate  viaims  of  the 
Great  Madness.  Thousands  were  incarcer- 
ated in  the  great  asylum.  Millions  more, 
all  over  the  world,  were  raving  and  curs- 
ing in  their  mad  delirium  behind  the 
bars  in  similar  prisons.  Faint  though  it  was, 
Some  hope  of  cure  was  held  by  the  author- 
ities, else  these  inmates  would  have,  as  had 
millions  of  obviously  incurables,  been 
mercifully  put  to  death.  A stricken  world, 

lifter  the  great  Madness  of  1997,  had  been 
302 


forced  to  seek  salvation  in  extreme  and 
immediate  aaion.  Occasionally,  even  yet, 
a modem  tumbril  would  roll  silently 
through  the  shadowy  corridors;  a door 
would  clang,  and  another  raving  viaim 
would  be  borne  away  to  the  lethal  gas 
chamber,  where  his  hideous  cries  would 
be  hushed  in  everlasting  sleep. 

And  now,  after  two  years  of  heroic 
struggling,  the  stout-hearted  survivors  of 
the  horror  had  brought  a semblance  of 
order  out  of  chaos;  had  put  back  on  its 
feet  a tottering  civilization.  But  present- 
day  historians,  as  they  sift  the  faas  and 
chronicle  the  history  of  those  eventful 
years,  often  speculate  on  the  effea  a 
knowledge  of  the  truth  would  have  had 
on  those  battling  to  save  the  world.  For 


• • 


the  truth  was,  that  even  as  they  attained 
success,  the  daric  forces  behind  the  Mad- 
ness were  preparing,  indeed  were  almost 
ready,  to  strike  again,  and  complete  their 
work  of  mastering  the  world.  With  di- 
abolical cunning  they  had  prepared  this 
second  attack  to  follow  the  first  at  a time 
when,  the  defenders  having  been  deceived 
into  a false  security,  the  complete  sur- 
prize of  it  would  engender  a hopelessness 
in  the  hearts  of  a tired  world  sufficiently 
overwhelming  to  cause  immediate  and 
complete  surrender.  Again  would  human 
shrieks  mingle  witli  the  din  of  the  Hor- 


ror, Again  would  human  teeth  tear 
bestially  at  human  .flesh,  and  hiunan 
bodies  float  hideously  in  gutters  running 
with  human  blood. 

The  guide,  conducting  the  distin- 
guished visitor  through  the  great 
prison,  spoke  respeafully.  "You  have  not 
visited  this  floor  before,  sir?” 

"No,  this  is  the  first  time.” 

"We  have  an  interesting  case  in  Num- 
ber 981,  sir,  not  at  all  like  the  others. 
Number  982  also,  sir,  seems  perfealy 
sane.” 


303 


304 


WEIRD  TALES 


The  visitor’s  eyes  swung  sharply 
around  to  his  guide’s,  and  lighted  up  with 
a fierce  interest.  "What  is  this?”  he 
aied;  then  controlling  his  obvious  excite- 
ment, said  calmly,  "Lead  me  to  them, 
Williams.” 

"Yes,  sir;  this  way,  sir.  Near  the  end 
of  the  corridor,  they  are.” 

A half-hundred  steps  brought  them 
opposite  cell  No.  970. 

"Ah,  they  already  have  a visitor,  sir.” 
The  guide  nodded  to  where  a comely 
young  woman  stood  •close  to  the  bars, 
conversing  earnestly  with  the  viaim  they 
imprisoned.  Near  by  stood  another  uni- 
formed attendant,  visibly  bored  by  his 
duties.  Williams  and  his  distinguished 
companion  drew  back  a respeaful  dis- 
tance, and  waited. 

"Doaor,”  Williams  said  earnestly, 
dropping  his  formal  manner  of  address, 
"have  you  learned  nothing  yet  concern- 
ing the  cause  of  the  Great  Mad ” 

"Tut,  tut,  my  boy;  you  know  the  law 
forbids  its  mention.” 

"To  hell  with  the  law!”  the  young  man 
cried  vehemently.  "Like  ostriches  with 
their  heads  in  the  sand  they  are,  those 
blind  fools  in  authority!  And  while  they 
impose  silence,  and  throttle  publicity, 
seriously  handicapping  men  like  you  who 
are  searching  for  the  truth,  the  Thing 
may  come  back  and  finish  the  job  of 
wrecking  civilization!  Oh  yes,  I know 
their  reason,”  as  the  doaor  started  to  in- 
terrupt him,  "that  to  call  to  mind  the 
horrors  of  those  days  may  send  others 
into  insanity.  And  I know  their  foolish 
opinions  as  to  its  source.  Radio  waves 
from  a passing  inhabited  comet — faugh! 
It’s  silly!  They  were  radio  waves,  all 
right;  but  they  came  from  somewhere 
right  here  on  earth;  and  if  that  place  is 
not  found ” 

"Patience,  my  boy,”  the  doaor  inter- 
rupted. "Who  knows  but  that  the  inmates 


of  cells  No.  981  and  982  yonder  may  fur- 
nish the  clue  for  which  we  have  been 
searching?” 

'The  young  guide’s  ire  subsided,  and 
his  intelligent  features  again  assumed 
their  habitually  calm  expression.  ’ 'Perhaps, 
Doaor,”  he  agreed,  quietly.  "They  do 
say  that  the  younger  man  tells  a strange 
story.  In  faa,  its  wildness  is  what  con- 
vinced the  Insanity  Commission  of  his 
madness.  No.  982  was  also  involved, 
but  I have  never  heard  the  details.” 

Dr.  Artley  Ingram,  one  of  the  great-  ' 
est  scientists  of  the  age,  listened  thought- 
fully to  the  yotmg  man’s  words.  He  had 
his  own  theories  regarding  the  Great 
Madness,  but  in  fear  of  the  results  of 
presenting  his  apparently  insane  ideas  to 
the  World  Insanity  Commission,  kept  dis- 
creetly silent.  Quietly,  however,  using  his 
high  position  as  president  of  the  United 
States  Central  University  to  the  limit  of 
its  obvious  advantages,  he  worked  under 
cover,  ceaselessly  searching  to  ferret  out 
the  real  cause  of  the  terrible  catastrophe 
that  had  blighted  the  minds  of  half  the 
hiunan  race. 

These  were  trying  days.  From  diaos  to 
order  had  been  a hard  fight.  The  gov- 
ernments of  the  world  had  forgotten  old 
differences  and  united  solidly  in  the  ef- 
fort to  save  humanity.  A stria  censorship 
and  system  of  espionage  had  been  estab- 
lished. Supreme  power  had  been  invested 
in  the  suddenly  aeated  World  Insanity 
Commission.  For  fear  of  the  possible 
contagious  effeas  of  such  utterances,  the 
authorities  continued  to  place  behind 
bars  anyone  whose  speech  hinted  even 
slightly  of  a hidden  trace  of  the  madness. 
One  had  to  guard  his  tongue,  lest  his 
liberty  be  revoked.  Who  was  to  say 
whether  these  drastic  measures  were  wise 
or  unwise?  There  had  been  no  time  for 
debate.  Those  whose  stronger  minds  had 
successfully  resisted  the  Horror  now 

W.  T.— 1 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


305 


•worked  feverishly  to  bulwark  humanity 
against  a possible  recurrent  wave  of  in- 
sanity. The  theory  was,  diat  like  a pin- 
hole leak  in  a dike,  one  insane  utterance 
might  release  a second  flood  of  lunacy. 
Humanity  in  gcnaral  was  not  interested 
so  much  in  the  source  of  the  madness, 
now  that  it  had  passed,  as  it  was  in  con- 
tagious after-effects. 

But  there  were  a few  who  feared 
rather  a recurrence  of  die  maddening 
phenomenon  than  its  after-effects.  Until 
its  source  was  found,  and  assurance  given 
that  the  phenomenon  could  not  occur 
again,  they  would  not  cease  in  their  ef- 
forts to  locate  and  destroy  its  cause. 

Among  this  small  group.  Dr.  Ingram 
was  probably  the  most  prominent.  Had 
this  group  been  permined  to  organize  and 
work  in  concert,  no  doubt  their  findings 
would  have  approximated  the  truth.  But 
the  world  governments  were  convinced 
that  the  Madness  was  gone,  and  would 
not  return  tmtil  the  strange  comet  re- 
garded as  its  source  would  return  again 
on  its  orbit  some  hundreds  of  years  hence. 
Meanwhile,  the  task  of  subduing  and  im- 
prisoning the  millions  of  stricken  and  in- 
sane unfortunates  had  well-nigh  crushed, 
physically  and  mentally,  the  fortunate 
half  of  society  that  had  remained  sane. 

Dr.  Ingram  believed  that  somewhere, 
among  the  millions  of  imprisoned  insane, 
there  was  someone  who  knew  the  seaet 
of  the  phenomenon.  Searching,  ever 
searching,  he  faced  a stupendous  task  in 
attempting  to  assort  and  glean  a word  or 
two  of  useful  truth  from  the  insane  bab- 
blings of  the  stricken  ones.  It  was  during 
his  many  visits  to  the  great  Central  Asy- 
lum of  the  United  States  that  he  became 
acquainted  with  Williams,  whose  intelli- 
gence and  reckless  statements  of  his  pos- 
itive views  had  elicited  the  doctor’s  con- 
fidence. To  Williams,  Dr.  Ingram  had 
confided  his  theories,  hopes,  and  plans, 
-W,T.— 2 


and  had  thereby  gained  a valuable  assist- 
ant; for  Williams,  through  his  position 
as  attendant  in  the  great  asylum,  was 
qualified  to  gather  information  hardly 
available  to  the  doaor.  And  now  a new 
spark  of  hope  flamed  in  the  doctor’s 
heart.  Perhaps,  this  time  success.  . . . 

Suddenly  the  young  woman  visitor’s 
voice  was  raised  in  anger.  They  looked 
quickly  down  the  corridor  to  where  she 
stood  close  to  the  bars. 

"I  will!”  she  cried.  'Til  go  to  them 
and  force  the  truth  down  their  throats! 
To  think  that  you  and  Father  discovered 
and  stopped  that  a\^ful  thing,  and 
now ” 

"Nan!  Stop!”  a voice  bdiind  the  bars 
interrupted.  "You  will  only  make  our 
chances  for  release  less  by  thus  endanger- 
ing your  own  liberty!  Have  patience, 
sweetheart,  and  keep  silent.  Surely  it  will 
not  be  long  before  this  rigid  espionage 
law  is  repealed,  and  the  authorities  are 
willing  to  listen.” 

Dr.  Ingram  clutched  Williams’  arm. 
Taking  advantage  of  the  girl’s  marked 
distress,  they  moved  quietly  nearer  to 
miss  no  word  of  her  conversation  with 
the  prisoner. 

"But  Robert,”  she  objeaed,  in  a 
strained  but  lowered  tone,  "in  the  mean- 
time, what  of  the  operator  who  escaped? 
He  may  build  another  machine,  and  the 
world  could  not  stand  another  hour  of 
the  Horror.” 

"But  Nan,  even  if  he  escaped  the  asy- 
lum, which  is  unlikely,  it  would  take  a 
long  time  to  perfea  another  apparatus. 
True,  the  Thangs  will  bide  their  time, 
and  attempt  it  again;  but  soon,  no  doubt, 
we  will  be  released,  and  find  a way  to  de- 
feat them.” 

Dr.  INGRAM  waited  to  hear  no  more, 
but  stepped  boldly  to  the  side  of 
the  young  woman,  who  paled  at  his  ap- 
proach. In  a low  voice,  he  instruct^ 


306 


WEIRD  TALES 


Williams  to  dismiss  the  other  attendant, 
who  nodded  at  .Williams’  whispered 
words,  and,  stifling  a bored  yawn,  strolled 
lazily  away.  Waiting  until  he  had  dis- 
appeared through  a door  at  the  far  end 
of  the  corridor.  Dr.  Ingram  then  spoke: 

"My  dear  Miss,  do  not  be  alarmed  be- 
cause we  overheard  your  conversation; 
we  are  your  friends.’’  Then  after  intro- 
ducing Williams  and  himself,  he  went 
on:  “From  what  I inadvertently  heard 
you  say  to  this  young  man  in  the  cell,  I 
believe  that  my  search  for  the  secret  of 
the  Great  Madness  may  be  near  an  end. 
Am  I right?’’ 

She  caught  her  breath  at  his  bold  men- 
tion of  the  forbidden  subjea.  Then  the 
prisoner  in  the  cell  answered  for  her,  to 
prevent  her  committing  herself: 

"yes,  you  are  right.  Dr.  Ingram.  Al- 
low me  to  introduce  ourselves.  I am 
Robert  Hargrane,  and  this’’ — turning  to 
the  next  cell,  where  a white-haired  man 
of  about  sixty  years  peered  silently 
through  the  partitioning  bars — “is  Pro- 
fessor Answorth,  who  was  my  employer 
before  we  were  imprisoned.  He  is  deaf; 
a misfortune  that  was  indeed  fortunate 
for  the  world,  as  you  will  see  later.  ’The 
young  lady  beside  you  is  his  daughter,  and 
my  fiancee.’’ 

’The  doaor  bowed  in  acknowledgment 
of  the  introduaion,  and  said: 

"You  have  information  regarding  this 
calamity,  the  Great  Madness,  that  has 
overtaken  the  world?’’ 

Robert  Hargrane  pressed  closer  to  the 
bars,  and  clasped  them  with  strong 
hands.  “Here  is  a man,’’  the  doctor 
thought  as  he  noted  the  clear  brown  eyes, 
clean  features,  and  magnificent  form, 
"capable  of  wrestling  with  the  psychical 
as  well  as  the  physical  forces  of  nature.’’ 
Hargrane,  in  turn,  missed  no  character- 
istics of  the  doaor.  The  doaor’s  prom- 
inence in  scientific  circles  had  made  him 


well  known  to  Hargrane,  but  for  the 
first  time  he  was  looking  on  the  eminent 
savant’s  distinguished  feamres.  With 
self-possessed  composure  he  met  the  firm, 
seardhing,  yet  kindly,  gaze  of  the  doaor’s 
steel-gray  eyes.  He  approved  of  the 
strong  clean-shaven  chin,  and  the  mobile 
mouth  that  barayed  no  cruelty  in  the 
man’s  nature.  He  was  conscious,  also,  of 
the  lean,  slender  form  of  Williams,  with 
his  dark,  eager,  eagle-like  features,  a 
young  man  typical  of  this  flying  age  when 
adventurous  youth  took  to  the  air  as 
though  it  was  youth’s  natural  element. 
And  Nan,  his  Nan,  there  beside  them, 
whose  troubled  blue  eyes  refleaed  the 
mental  distress  she  had  been  suffering. 
Even  now,  had  it  not  been  for  this 
scourge  of  madness  that  had  whipped  the 
world  to  its  knees,  she  would  be  his  wife. 
His  heart  went  out  with  longing  and 
sympathy  to  her  sweet  face  with  its  full, 
half-parted  lips.  Her  slight,  athlaic 
form  clothed  in  the  neat  flying-costume — 
helmet,  jacket,  breeches  and  puttees, 
youth’s  sporting-mode  of  the  day  — re- 
minded him  of  some  Artemis  of  the  air. 

And  there  was  the  slight  but  yet  aaive 
form  of  the  man  in  the  next  cell,  whom 
he  loved  as  a father.  The  studious  blue 
eyes  behind  the  speaacles  were  now 
troubled,  as  they  watched  Robert’s  lips 
form  his  answer  to  the  docfor.  Robert 
knew  that  his  frail  form  would  soon 
break  imder  the  strain  of  imprisonment, 
and  a prayer  was  in  his  heart  that  here, 
at  last,  was  someone  who  would  listen, 
believe,  and  help  them.  A black  menace 
hung  over  the  world  that  they  alone  un- 
derstood. So  he  answered: 

“Doaor,  we  have  a story  to  tell  that 
will  tax  your  credulity  to  the  utmost.  But 
if  the  world  is  to  be  saved,  you,  or  some- 
one, must  listen — and  believe.’’ 

"Oh,  please,  please,  Doaor,”  Nan 
broke  in.  "You  must  believe  it.” 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


307 


The  doctor  produced  notebook  and 
pencil.  "I  am  ready  to  listen,”  he  said 
quietly. 

"I  am  sorry,  Doctor,”  Hargrane  said, 
"but  it  is  too  complicated  to  tell  here.  If 
you  can  ejffea  our  release,  I can  take  you 
to  where  absolute  proof  will  be  given 
you.” 

"Hm.”  The  doctor  thoughtfully 
stroked  his  chin.  "The  task  of  cutting 
die  tangle  of  red  tape  would  be  insur- 
mountable.” 

Turning  to  Williams,  he  continued, 
"Would  you  risk  the  danger  of  assisting 
in  their  escape?” 

"Gladly,  Doctor.” 

"Then  let  us  arrange  the  details.  But 
first,  Mr.  Hargrane,  I would  like  to  ask 
you  just  one  question.  Just  who  are  die 
— er,  the  Thangs?” 

Robert  Hargrane  hesitated,  and 
searched  the  eyes  of  Dr.  Ingram  for  signs 
of  insincerity.  -What  he  found  there  sat- 
isfied him,  and  he  answered  firmly: 

"The  Thangs,  sir,  are  the  malignant  in- 
habitants of  another  dimension,  another 
plane,  very  near,  and  very  dangerous  to 
the  world.” 

Midnight.  Now  and  then  the  silence 
brooding  over  the  great  darkened 
asylum  was  broken  by  the  insane  gibber- 
ings  of  some  mentdly  tortured  viaim 
confined  behind  its  grim  walls,  evoking 
a chorus  of  noournal  wailings  from 
others.  Gradually  the  hideous  mouthings 
would  subside;  th«i  quiet  again. 

Through  the  dim  light,  a lone  figure 
sped  down  one  of  the  long  corridors. 
The  man  paused  before  a barred  door;  a 
lode  clicked,  and  he  was  joined  by  a shad- 
owy form  from  within  a cell.  Another  lock 
grated,  and  another  form  emerged.  A win- 
dow at  die  end  of  the  corridor  was  sofdy 
raised,  the  loosened  bats  removed,  and  the 
darkness  without  received  the  trio  in  its 
pioteaing  embrace.  In  a few  moments, 


in  a field  dose’  by,  a soft  purring  sound 
accelerated  into  a muffled  hum,  and  a 
dark,  bird-like  form  glided  swifdy  over 
the  turf,  rose  into  the  air,  drclet^  then 
was  lost  to  sight  in  the  black  void  above. 

Dr.  INGRAM  surveyed  widi  much  in- 
terest the  room  into  which  he  had 
been  shown. 

"Your  father  has  a wonderfully 
equipped  laboratory  here.  Miss  Ans- 
worth.” 

"Yes,  Doaor.  He  has  spent  a lifetime, 
and  a fortune,  in  accumularing  the  equip- 
ment you  see,”  Miss  AnSworth  answered 
"And  since  Mother  died,  he  fitted  up 
living-quarters  adjoining.  Having  the 
entire  top  floor  to  ourselves,  and  the  ex- 
clusive use  of  the  roof  as  a landing-stage, 
has  given  us  a privacy  diat  he  valued 
highly.  Having  given  up  all  work  of  a 
public  nature,  and  devoting  his  entire 
time  to  private  research  and  experimoi- 
tation.  Father  has  caused  us  to  be  as  alone 
up  here  as  if  we  were  in  a desert.  Mr. 
Hargrane,  his  sole  assistant  for  the  past 
two  years,  lived  with  us.  We  kept  two 
planes;  one  for  myself,  and  one  in  which 
Father  and  Mr.  Hargrane  made  frequent 
flights  to  remote  places  in  the  interests  of 
his  many  experiments.  Since  Father’s 
and  Robert’s — Mr.  Hargrane’s — incar- 
ceration, I have  continued  to  live  here 
alone,  hoping  against  hope  that  their  re- 
lease might  be  effeaed.  I am  so  grateful 
to  you.  Doctor,  for  your  assistance  in  their 
escape.  And  in  a short  time  you  will  have 
revealed  to  you  amazing  things  that  will 
elevate  that  favor  into  an  aa  that  may 
save  the  world.  There,”  she  said,  point- 
ing, "is  the  most  wonderful  invention  in 
all  history — the  medium  through  which 
those  amazing  things  will  be  revealed.  Its 
conception  and  construction  were  the  sal- 
vation of  the  world  once,  and  may  be 
again.” 

Dr.  Ingram  looked  in  the  direction  in- 


308 


WEIRD  TALES 


dicated,  and  beheld  a complicated  appa- 
ratus that  was  mostly  concealed  by  a 
draped  black  cover. 

"Tell  me  about  it,”  he  said. 

"If  you  will  pardon  me,  I would  rather 
let  Father  and  Robert  explain  it.  They 
will  be  here  shortly,  and  do  you  not  think 
a warm  lunch,  after  their  asylum  fare, 
would  be  welcome?” 

"By  all  means.  Miss  Answorth.”  He 
smiled.  "It  takes  a woman  to  remember 
all  the  little  niceties,  doesn’t  it?” 

He  followed  her  into  the  kitchen,  and 
watched  her  prepare  coffee,  eggs,  bacon, 
and  a salad  and  dessert  for  the  escaping 
prisoners  whom  they  expeaed  within  the 
hour. 

Dr.  Ingram  glanced  at  his  watch. 
"They  should  be  here  in  fifteen  minutes 
or  so,"  he  said.  Then  a disquieting 
thought  struck  him.  "Will  not  the  aerial 
police  see  the  landing-lights,  and  possibly 
investigate?” 

She  smiled. 

"Father’s  genius  has  taken  care  of  that, 
Doaor.  He  has  the  landing-stage  out- 
lined in  black-violet  signals — ^his  own, 
and  hitherto  secret  invention,  whidi  is 
an  adaptation  from  the  well-known  black- 
light  searchlights.  A special  receiving- 
apparatus  is  installed  on  both  our  planes, 
giving  them  the  exclusive  ability  to  re- 
ceive the  signals.  To  all  others  in  the 
sky,  our  roof  is  as  dark  as  the  night  itself. 
Robert  can  easily  show  Mr.  Williams 
how  to  operate  it  in  case  Mr.  Williams 
acts  as  pilot  on  the  return  flight.  Oh,  I 
do  hope  nothing  goes  wrong,”  she  cried, 
as  sudden  fright  at  possible  failure  star- 
tled her. 

"Do  not  worry.  Miss  Answorth,”  Dr. 
Ingram  assured  her.  "Mr.  Williams  is  a 
very  capable  young  man,  trustworthy,  as 
well  as  an  excellent  pilot.  I see  no  pos- 
sibility of  failure.  It  simplified  matters  a 
great  deal  for  you  to  furnish  a plane  in 


which  he  could  spirit  them  away  from 
the  asylum.  It  would  be  a simple  matter 
for  him,  an  attendant,  to  enter  the  place 
at  any  time,  unlock  the  cells,  and  condua 
your  father  and  Hargrane  to  the  plane.” 

She  smiled  her  gratitude  for  his  com- 
forting words.  Then 

"Listen!”  she  exclaimed. 

A faint  humming  sound  from  above 
came  to  their  ears,  and,  at  a slight  jar 
overhead,  she  cried,  "Oh,  good,  they  are 
here!” 

In  a very  few  minutes.  Nan  Answorth, 
sobbing  with  joy,  was  locked  in  the  em- 
braces of  her  father  and  lover.  Then, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  thanked  Wil- 
liams, and  led  the  little  party  in  to  the 
midnight  repast. 

SEATED  at  a large  table  in  the  labora- 
tory with  Professor  Answorth,  his 
daughter,  and  Robert  Hargrane,  Dr.  In- 
gram and  Williams  prepared  to  hear  the 
true  story  of  the  Great  Madness,  and  gain 
understanding  of  that  which  was  to  come. 

"Professor  Answorth  has  been  deaf 
and  mute  for  a number  of  years,  Doaor,” 
Hargrane  began,  "but  you  shall  hear  his 
story  in  his  own  words,  for  he  is  an  ex- 
pert in  lip-reading,  and  has  taught  it  to 
Miss  Answorth  and  me,  so  that  commu- 
nication between  him  and  us  would  be 
simplified.  He  will  speak,  silently,  of 
course,  and  I will  translate  to  you  his 
words.  After  he  is  dhrough,  you  may  see, 
if  you  wish,  with  your  own  eyes,  the 
malignant  entities  or  intelligences  in  their 
evil  dimension.” 

Hargrane  turned  to  Professor  Ans- 
worth, who  had  been  watching  his  lips 
as  he  talked.  The  professor’s  lips  moved 
as  he  silently  conveyed  some  comment  to 
his  assistant.  Facing  Dr.  Ingram  with  a 
dignified  bow  and  quiet  smile,  his  lips 
again  moved,  and  Hargrane  immediately 
began  to  speak  aloud  the  words  his 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


309 


mouth  was  forming — the  words  that  de- 
scribed to  Dr,  Ingram  the  most  astonish- 
ing discovery  in  history,  and  the  awful 
danger  that  menaced  the  world. 

"I  wish  to  thank  you,  Doaor,”  he  be- 
gan, "for  your  timely  assistance  in  our 
release.  Your  aid  in  effeaing  our  es- 
cape is,  I have  every  reason  to  believe, 
an  aa  that  will  save  the  world  from  a 
recurrence  of  the  Horror  and  its  resultant 
collapse  of  sanity  and  civilization.  Your 
mind  can  not  conceive  now  the  awful 
menace  that  surrounds  humanity  in  the 
persons  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  fourth 
dimension.  But  in  a few  moments  you 
will  be  privileged  to  look,  with  your  own 
eyes,  into  that  dimension,  and  behold  the 
malignant  beings  who  plan  to  invade 
ours. 

"It  was  not  the  fault  of  those  evil  en- 
tities or  intelligences,  that  their  first  at- 
tempt to  subdue  our  three-dimensional 
plane  was  a failure.  It  was  due  to  out 
timely  discovery  of  them  and  their  dia- 
bolical plot,  and  the  bravery  of  Rob- 


The  professor  looked  at  Robert,  who 
blushed  With  modesty,  but  continued 
speaking  aloud  the  words  the  professor’s 
lips  were  forming. 

" who  took  his  life  in  his  hands 

when  he  smashed  the  infernal  machine 
that  was  broadcasting  the  Madness.  It 
is  our  greatest  woriy  that  the  inventor 
and  operator  of  the  machine,  the  tool  of 
the  'Thangs,  escaped.  Even  now  he  may 
have  another  almost  perfeaed,  almost 
ready  to  release  another  deluge  of  din 
through  the  ether  that  would  be  certain, 
within  a few  hours,  to  reduce  the  rest  of 
humanity  to  snarling,  tearing  beasts,  or 
gibbering  idiots.  You,  being  on  a soli- 
tary hunting-trip  in  the  wilds,  were  mer- 
cifully spared  the  awful  speaacle  we  be- 
held here  in  the  city  at  the  first  invasion 
of  the  Madness.  Of  course  the  din  as- 


sailed your  ears,  as  it  did  those  of  every 
human.  Your  well-balanced  mind  re- 
sisted the  Madness,  but  even  you  must 
have  succumbed  had  we  not  found  and 
destroyed  its  cause.  No  doubt  you,  in 
your  lonely  bivouac,  at  night  watched 
the  gorgeous  display  of  the  strange  comet 
that  then  flamed  in  the  sky.  I wonder 
if  you  too,  thrilling  to  the  strange,  im- 
earthly  music  that  pervaded  the  %ther 
preceding  the  Madness,  attributed  it,  as 
did  other  scientists,  to  the  supposed  in- 
habitants of  that  mysterious  celestial  vis- 
itor. 

"Ah,  how  people  here  in  the  city  were 
affeaed  by  that  music!  A fervor  ap- 
proaching fanaticism  seized  the  relig- 
iously inclined,  who  watched  the  skies 
eagerly  for  descending  angels  from  heav- 
en, playing  on  golden  harps!  Musicians 
vainly  strove  to  identify,  or  classify,  in- 
struments the  like  of  which  they  had 
never  heard!  Scientists  listened,  awed  by 
the  music,  and  by  the  ingenuity  of  the 
supposed”  inhabitants  of  the  comet,  who, 
so  they  thought,  had  accomplished  the 
double  miracle  of  interplanetary  com- 
munication and  the  broadcasting  of  radio 
waves  without  other  receiving-apparatus 
than  the  human  ear!i  All  over  the  world 
it  was  heard.  All  over  the  world  the 
newspapers  were  filled  with  accounts  of 
the  phenomenon.  And  then,  when  the 
wonderful  music  ceased  and  the  awful 
din  of  the  horror  took  its  place,  full  real- 
ization of  its  significance  came  to  Robert 
and  me.  The  mysterious  activities  of  the 
strange  inhabitants  of  the  fourth  dimen- 
sion, into  which  we  had  looked  through 
yonder  machine,  were  mysterious  no 
longer. 

"I  know  you  are  impatient,  Doaor,  to 
see  for  yourself  the  beings  responsible 
for  the  Great  Madness,  so  I will  not  go 
into  a long  scientific  discussion  of  the  ap- 
paratus I invented.  There  has  been  a 


310 


WEIRD  TALES 


great  deal  of  theorizing  in  scientific  dr- 
cles  regarding  the  fourth  dimension,  and 
also,  apart  from  that  theoretical  state, 
the  possibility  of  life  in  or  on  other 
planes  of  existence.  I believed  that  the 
conditions  termed  planes  and  dimensions 
were  synonymous.  I believed  that  they 
were  simply  states  wherein  all  matter  vi- 
brated at  a different  rate  than  in  ours, 
rendering  it  invisible  and  intangible  to 
our  sight  and  touch.  Considering  light 
rays  in  those  other  planes  as  matter, 
theoretically  it  should  be  possible,  there- 
fore, to  see  into  those  planes,  provided 
that  the  light  rays  emanating  from  ob- 
jects in  those  planes  could  be  changed  in 
their  vibrations  to  conform  to  the  rate  of 
vibration  of  our  light  rays.  The  prob- 
lem was  how  to  do  it.  An  account ’of 
the  thousands  of  experiments  I failed  in 
would  be  discouraging  reading,  but  fi- 
nally it  was  done.  I succeeded  in  devel- 
oping a new  ray,  which,  when  direaed 
across  one’s  line  of  vision  a certain  exact 
distance  from  the  retina,  would  change 
the  vibrations  of  the  light  rays  from  the 
fourth  dimension  to  the  point  where  they 
would  be  visible  to  us.” 

Professor  Answorth’s  lips  ceased  mov- 
ing, and  Robert  was  silent.  The  profes- 
sor moved  to  the  shrouded  apparatus  he 
had  indicated,  and  removed  the  cover. 
Robert  followed  him,  and  stood  beside 
the  machine,  which  Dr.  Ingram  exam- 
ined with  interest.  He  saw  a black  box- 
like affair  standing  on  nidceled  tubular 
legs,  with  a seat  attached  at  a height  suf- 
ficient to  bring  the  user’s  face  even  with 
an  oval  aperture  in  a rubber  curtain 
stretched  over  that  side  of  the  box. 
Fixed,  one  on  each  side,  were  two  tubes 
pitched  at  an  angle  that  would  direa  the 
axis  of  each  to  a common  crossing  a few 
inches  in  front  of  the  eyes  of  the  user. 
An  adjustable  head-rest,  with  a grad- 
uated stale,  extended  down  from  the  tc^ 


of  the  apparatus  to  govern  the  distance 
of  the  eyes  from  the  czossing  of  the  axes 
of  the  tubes,  at  the  open  end  of  which 
were  fastened  glass  spheres  conneaed  by 
wires  to  a glittering  array  of  dials  and 
switches  on  a panel  at  one  side  of  the 
machine.  The  spheres  glowed  with  a pe- 
culiar orange  light  as  the  professor 
threw  in  switches  and  regulated  rheostats 
on  the  panel.  The  whole  afiPair,  includ- 
ing a seat  for  the  operator,  stood  on  a 
circular  platform  set  flush  with  the  floor 
so  that  it  could  be  revolved  and  fixed  in 
any  certain  position. 

Robert  seated  himself  before  the  ma- 
. chine.  Turing  to  Dr.  Ingram  he 
said,  "I  will  now  demonstrate  the  using 
of  the  machine,  Doaor,  and  see  that  it 
is  in  the  proper  adjustment  for  you  in 
case  you  care  to  look  at  the  awful  entities 
in  the  next  dimension." 

He  turned  and  thrust  his  face  into  the 
aperture  in  the  rubber  curtain.  Professor 
Answorth  lowered  the  graduated  scale, 
and  carefully  scanning  it,  adjusted  the 
head-rest.  Slowly  turning  a rheostat,  he 
caused  the  glass  spheres  to  glow  brighter 
and  brighter  with  die  orange  light  until 
Robert,  with  his  fingers,  signaled  in  old 
style  deaf-mute  language  to  revolve  the 
platform.  The  professor  pressed  a but- 
ton, and  it  circled  slowly  a foot  or  two 
to  the  left.  At  another  signal  from 
Robert  he  released  his  pressure  on  the 
control,  and  the  platform  came  to  rest. 
After  a few  moments,  Robert  withdrew 
his  head  from  the  machine.  A grim 
look  was  on  his  features. 

"’They  are  diere,”  he  said,  "and  evi- 
dently in  a state  of  great  agitation.  I 
fear  iey  are  nearer  ready  than  I thought 
for  a second  attack.  U^,”  he  shud- 
dered, "I  can’t  ga  used  to  looking  on 
their  hideousness.  Do  you  care  to  see 
them,  Doaor?” 

This  was  what  he  bad  come  for.  This 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


311 


was  why  he  had  assisted  these  men  to 
escape  from  confinement;  to  see  for  him- 
self the  strange  things  in  another  dimen- 
sion who,  they  had  asserted,  had  attempt- 
ed once,  and  were  preparing  even  now,  to 
conquer  the  world  through  madness. 
Only  a moment  Dr.  Ingram  hesitated, 
and  then,  with  a queer  trembly  feeling 
inside  his  breast,  he  sat  down  before  the 
machine  and  thrust  his  face  through  the 
opening  in  the  rubber  curtain.  He  felt 
the  head-rest  moved  against  the  back  of 
his  head,  which  was  gently  forced  for- 
ward into  the  proper  position.  All  was 
dark  before  his  eyes  at  first,  then  a faint 
orange  glow  seemed  to  spread  and  slowly 
absorb  the  blackness.  What  monstrous 
sight  was  he  about  to  see? 

For  two  minutes  he  remained  quietly 
seated,  while  vague  shapes  writhed  and 
slowly  took  form  before  his  eyes.  Sud- 
denly the  group  around  the  machine  saw 
him  shudder,  saw  his  body  tense  and 
tremble.  In  a moment  he  withdrew  his 
blanched  face  from  the  machine,  and  rose 
drunkenly  from  the  seat.  He  turned 
and  faced  them,  his  eyes  mirroring  un- 
speakable horror. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "My  God! 
Heads!  Heads!  Bloated,  leering,  bodiless 
heads!  Floating,  swaying  in  a sickening 
orange  atmosphere — ^peering  and  mouth- 
ing at  me  with  their  evil  eyes  and  foul 
lips! — shrinking  and  swelling  into  lop- 
sided, loathsome  shapes  like  the  rotting, 
maggot-quickened  boneless  heads  of 
corpses!  And  their  thoughts — their  ob- 
scene, bestial  thoughts!  Pouring  into  my 
brain  from  their  vicious  intelligences  in 
a soul-staining,  corrupting  stream!  In 
heaven’s  name.  Professor,  what  are  they?" 

Dr.  Ingram  sank  into  a chair,  mopping 
with  trembling  hand  his  streaming  brow. 

The  professor’s  lips  moved,  and  Rob- 
ert spoke  for  him: 

"Exaaly,  Doctor;  heads!  ’The  'Thangs! 


Inhabitants  of  another  dimension  which, 
I have  every  reason  to  believe,  is  nothing 
less  than  ^e  traditional,  orthodox  hell 
that  the  old-time,  Fundamentalist  clergy 
warned  us  against.  It  was  a blind  1«- 
lief,  but  apparently  true.  At  least  the 
awful  beings  you  saw  are  tortured;  tor- 
tured by  an  everlasting  fire — the  consum- 
ing flames  of  unsatisfied  passions  and  de- 
sires!” 

Robert,  with  a motioning  hand,  inter- 
rupted the  professor.  His  lips  moved 
in  a silent  request,  and  the  professor 
nodded.  Robert  sat  down  on  the  seat  of 
the  machine,  and  turning,  requested  of 
Nan  that  she  continue  the  professor’s 
story  for  him.  "I  would  like,”  he  add- 
ed, addressing  the  doaor,  "to  be  study- 
ing the  'Thangs.  I fear  die  time  is  lim- 
ited in  which  to  discover  something  of 
their  plans.” 

"Certainly,  Robert,  go  right  ahead,” 
the  doaor  feebly  smiled;  "I  think  Miss 
Answorth  will  be  a very  satisfaaory  sub- 
stitute interpraer.” 

Robert  nodded  his  thanks,  and  turned 
to  the  machine,  accidentally  jostling  it 
with  his  elbow.  Neither  he  nor  the  pro- 
fessor seemed  to  notice  this  small  acci- 
dent. He  thrust  his  face  into  the  aper- 
ture; the  professor  adjusted  the  controls 
and  turned  on  the  current.  At  a signal 
from  Robert  that  focus  and  position  were 
satisfaaory,  he  turned  from  the  dials  and 
switches  on  the  panel,  and  facing  the 
doaor,  prepared  to  resume  his  story.  His 
lips  moved,  and  Nan’s  well-bred,  swea- 
ly  quiet  voice  continued  his  amazing  rev- 
elations. 

"Months  of  study,”  she  began,  watch- 
ing her  father’s  lips,  "after  the  perfec- 
tion of  the  machine,  and  recovery  from 
the  shock  at  the  awful  beings  it  revealed, 
convinced  Robert  and  me  that  the 
'Thangs,  as  we  soon  learned  they  call 
themselves,  are  simply  disembodied  in- 


312 


WEIRD  TALES 


telligences,  evil  beyond  compare.  Sev- 
eral facts  became  plain.  First,  they  dis- 
played all  the  charaaeristics  of  the  hu- 
man intelligence,  without,  however,  any- 
thing at  all  of  the  good  or  pure  in  their 
thou^ts.  Second,  we  were  partly  able 
to  read  their  minds;  their  wick^  thoughts 
seemed  to  come  to  us  over  the  altered 
light  rays  that  revealed  them  to  us.  Third, 
doing  so,  we  knew  they  hated  us,  were 
jealous  of  us  and  planned  to  invade  our 
dimension.  How  they  intended  doing 
this,  and  what  form  t^  invasion  could 
possibly  take,  we  could  not  learn.  Fourth, 
we  found  they  were  constantly  tortured 
by  consuming  passions  and  desires  com- 
mon to  us  humans,  but  usually  controlled 
by  moral  forces  and  instincts.  Having 
no  morality  to  restrain  them,  nor  a physi- 
cal body  as  a vehicle  or  outlet  for  those 
passions,  their  madness  was  understand- 
able. Fifth,  we  concluded  that  their  ori- 
gin was  in  our  world,  our  dimension. 
They  were  the  souls  of  dead  men  and 
women!  After  death,  their  souls  had 
lacked  the  buoyancy  of  good,  or  morals 
to  raise  them  to  a higher  plane  of  exist- 
ence; and  there,  inexorably,  they  were 
doomed  to  stay  forever  in  their  hellish 
sphere.  This  dovetailed  with  the  ortho- 
dox belief  in  eternal  damnation. 

**So  we  gave  little  thought  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  their  success  in  really  invading 
our  dimension,  but  ascribed  their  evident 
but  vague  plans  thereof  to  merely  the 
wish  being  father  to  the  thought.  We 
could  see  no  way  they  could  accomplish 
this  unthinkable  thing;  it  simply  could 
not  be  done.  Ah!  how  much  suffering 
we  might  have  averted;  how  many  minds 
and  lives  we  might  have  saved  had  we 
but  perceived  the  simple  truth! 

'Tor  some  months  before  the  horror 
of  the  madness  overwhelmed  the  earth, 
we  had  been  paying  little  attention  to  the 
Thangs  and  their  activitiesi  Xbfi  Study- 


ing of  them  was  not  pleasant,  and  also 
seemingly  profitless;  so  we  direaed  our 
efforts  along  other  lines  of  scientific  re- 
search. Our  main  interest  lay  in  perfect- 
ing an  apparatus  which  would  indicate, 
exaaly,  the  location  of  the  source  of  any 
known  elearical  impulse.  It  was  an 
elaboration  and  perfeaion  of  the  old  ra- 
dio direction  and  distance  finder.  The 
task  was  not  so  difficult,  and  after  thor- 
oughly testing  and  proving  our  theories, 
we  built  a finished  machine.  It  was 
while  we  were  clearing  a place  for  it  in 
a corner  filled  with  old  bottles  of  chem- 
icals, discarded  paraphernalia,  and  so  on^ 
that  I came  across  a bottle  of  solutitMi 
that  I had  made  several  years  ago.  I had 
compounded  it  in  experimenting  to  find 
a cure  for  my  increasing  deafness.  How 
it  had  frightened  me  when  its  applica- 
tion rendered  me  totally  deaf!  But  its 
aaion  proved  only  temporary  and  harm- 
less. Some  unexplainable  impulse  pre- 
vented me  throwing  it  out,  and  there  it 
had  remained,  dusty  and  undisturbed  all 
these  years.  In  the  meantime,  failing  to 
find  a cure,  I had  become  totally  deaf 
and  mute,  and  reconciled  to  that  state. 

"As  I turned  to  set  the  bottle  on  a 
table,  I noticed  Nan  and  Robert  pause 
in  their  work  and  listen  with  rapt  inter- 
est to  something  I,  of  course,  could  not 
hear.  And  then,  trying  to  read  both 
pairs  of  lips  at  once,  I was  exdtedly  told 
of  the  wonderful  music  they  were  hear- 
ing— ^music  that  seemed  to  come  from 
nowhere,  filling  the  ether  until  it  seemed 
to  originate  in  the  brain  itself. 

"We  suspended  all  work  as  we  dis- 
cussed this  phenomenon.  Someone  had 
performed  a miracle,  had  accomplished 
the  impossible  in  transmitting  radio 
waves  direct  to  the  ear  without  the  me- 
dium of  a mechanical  receiver!  The 
name  of  a new  hero  of  science  would 
soon  headline  the  newspapers!  We  would 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


313 


write  bun,  whoever  he  mi^t  be,  a letter 
of  coagratulatioa  when  he  becaiue 
known.  Meanwhile  we  attempted  to  lo< 
cate  him  with  our  new  machine,  but  the 
hitherto  unknown  wave-length  he  used 
prevented  its  successful  operation  with- 
out several  minor  changes. 

"Of  course  you  heard,  all  that  night, 
the  next  day,  and  the  next  ni^t,  the 
strange  music  that  thrilled  a mystified 
world  You  know  of  how  it  interefered 
with  commimication,  prevented  sleep 
except  among  the  totally  deaf,  and  al- 
most halted  business.  The  newspapers 
quoted  the  baffled  radio  experts  as  say- 
ing that  discovery  of  the  unknown  broad- 
caster was  an  impossibility;  be  singly 
was  not  on  this  earth.  On  the  tmrning 
of  the  fatal  day  ©f  the  Horror,  the  papers 
published  the  expressed  theories  of  a 
group  of  eminent  scientists  and  astron- 
omers, which  were  that  the  strange  new 
comet  then  screaking  across  the  zenith 
was  inhabited  and  that  the  weird  music 
was  radioed  by  the  superior  beings  there- 
on. It  was  not  the  first  time  that  wise 
men  had  been  mistaken,  as  they  certainly 
were. 

"That  morning.  Nan  and  Robert  were 
standing  at  the  window,  watciung  the  ex- 
cited human  stream  in  the  street  below. 
I saw  tHem  sunultaneously  clap  their 
hands  to  their  ears,  and  quickly  turn  to 
me,  consternation  and  horror  in  their 
eyes.  Breathlessly  they  told  me  what  had 
occurred;  the  music  had  ceased  and  in 
its  place  bad  come  the  dm  of  the  Horror. 
How  terrible  it  was  you  already  know. 

"Their  nerves  were  soon  racked  and 
frayed  under  the  strain  of  the  awful 
noise.  Suddenly  Nan  exclaimed,  'Father, 
if  this  does  not  stop  soon,  we  shall  all 
go  mad!’ 

"Mad! — ^There  was  the  key  to  the  mys- 
terious activities  of  the  Thangs!  Why 
hodl  not  thought  of  k before?  It  was 
all  plain  to  me  now;  a clear  petception 


of  their  plan  flashed  into  my  mind.  In- 
sanity.^ — that  was  it!  The  deranged  hu- 
man intellea  vibrating  at  a rate  out  of 
the  normal  formed  a bridge,  a connecting 
link,  and  over  that  bridge  would  pour 
the  Thangs  out  of  their  foul  dimension, 
to  take  possession  of  the  minds  and  bod- 
ies of  humanity,  and  indulge — if  only 
for  a brief  time — ^their  bestial  passions! 
They  had  nothing  to  lose,  and  all  to  gain. 

"But  how  were  they  producing  the 
phenomenon  of  the  Horror?  There  was 
but  one  logical  conclusion:  a Thang,  pos- 
sibly the  soul  of  some  mad  genius  of  the 
past,  had  entered  the  -diseased  mind  of 
some  once-brilliant  modem  scientist,  and 
with  diabolical  cunning  the  combined  in- 
telkas  had  conceived  their  hellish  inven- 
tion, and  had  produced  a machine  to 
broadcast  the  exciting  music,  and  then 
the  maddening  noise, 

"If  the  world  was  to  be  saved,  imme- 
diate aaion  was  necessary.  I needed 
help,  but  Nan  and  Robert  were  fast  go- 
ing to  pieces  under  the  strain.  Would 
they  soon  be  raving  maniacs,  their  minds 
^ possessed  by  Thangs?  I shuddered  at 
the  thought.  If  only  they  were  deaf  too! 
Then  I thought  of  the  drug  that  had  tem- 
porarily paralyzed  my  hearing.  Gladly 
they  consented  to  a drop  in  each  ear. 
The  action  was  immediate,  the  relief  be- 
yond words. 

"Frantically  we  set  to  work.  After  a 
brief  inspeaion  of  the  Thangs  through 
the  machine,  which  showed  them  in  a 
state  of  great  excitement,  vanishing  one 
by  one  here  and  there  as  they  aossed  the 
I^idge  of  insanity  to  possess  the  minds 
of  those  going  mad,  we  began  the  neces- 
sary changes  in  our  radio-finding  appara- 
tus. I breathed  a prayer  that  we  fail 
not  to  find,  the  source  of  that  nerve-shat- 
tering noise.  We  succeeded,  the  indica- 
tor ^wing  its.  location  m a sheltered 
cove  on  the  eastern  shore  of  Georgian 
Bay  in  Ctotario,  01  our  flight  there,  and 


314 


WEIRD  TALES 


the  subsequent  fight  with  the  mad  inven- 
tor of  the  horrible  machine,  and  the  burn- 
ing of  the  ship  it  was  on,  I will  ask  Rob- 
ert to  tell  you,  as  he  was  the  principal 
aaor  in  that  part  of  the  dtama.” 

The  professor’s  lips  ceased  to  move, 
and  Nan  fell  silent.  He  turned  to 
where  Robert  had  remained  quietly  seat- 
ed at  the  machine  during  his  story,  and 
touched  him  on  the  arm.  He  did  not 
move. 

Again  the  professor  touched  him,  took 
hold  of  an  elbow  and  gently  shook  it. 
Unresponsive,  Robert  sat  lifeless,  his  face 
hidden  in  the  machine. 

'The  professor,  now  thoroughly 
alarmed,  turned  his  white  face  to  the 
panel  board,  and  shut  off  the  current. 
The  doaor  and  Williams  were  already 
lifting  Robert  from  the  seat,  and  as  Nan 
caught  sight  of  his  set  features  and  star- 
ing eyes,  she  stifled  a scream.  Pressing 
her  hands  to  her  heart,  which  seemed  to 
stand  still,  her  mind  fought  back  a sin- 
gle stabbing  word:  “Dead!” 

But  no!  Supported  by  the  doaor  and 
Williams,  Robert  walked,  as  one  hypno- 
tized, to  a couch,  where  every  effort  to 
revive  him  failed.  For  hours  the  doaor 
worked  over  the  unconscious  man, 
frankly  puzzled  by  his  strange  condition. 
Silently,  tensely,  the  little  group  watched 
as  he  brought  into  play  all  his  skill  and 
all  his  knowledge  of  medicine  and  hyp- 
nosis. Though  the  rest  of  his  physical 
organs  funaioned  properly,  Robert’s 
mind  slept;  he  remained  as  though  dead. 

It  was  Williams  who  finally  advanced 
a theory  as  to  his  true  condition.  Doubt- 
fully, hesitantly,  conscious  of  his  igno- 
rance in  such  matters,  he  said: 

"G)uld  he — could  the  machine  have 
been  out  of  adjustment,  and — and  drawn 
his  mind  into — ^into  that  other  dimen- 
sion? I saw  him  jar  it  as  he  sat  down.” 
The  professor  caught  the  words  on  his 


lips,  and  a startled  look  came  over  his 
worry-strained  features.  He  pressed 
Williams’  arm  in  a gesture  that  spoke 
plainer  than  words  his  thanks  for  the 
suggestion,  and  sprang  quickly  to  exam- 
ine the  machine.  Nan  followed  him,  un- 
consciously speaking  aloud  in  her  anxiety 
as  she  plied  her  deaf  father  with  ques- 
tions. Intent  on  measuring,  calibrating, 
and  calculating,  he  ignored  her.  ’Then 
with  pencil  and  pad  he  rapidly  covered 
a half-dozen  pages  with  mathematical 
equations.  Finally  turning  to  his  anxious 
watchers,  his  lips  moved  and  Nan  inter- 
preted: 

"Yes,  it  is  possible.  I did  not  foresee 
it,  but  it  is  possible.  'The  axes  of  the  ray 
tubes  which  were  jarred  from  their  nor- 
mal forty-five  degree  pitch,  while  not  af- 
feaing  the  ability  of  the  user  to  receive 
on  the  retina  the  light  rays  from  the  other 
dimension,  set  up  a rotary  motion  of  the 
atoms  of  the  rays  that  aaed  as  a vortex, 
drawing  Robert’s  intelligence  into  that 
abominable  plane.” 

"Father!”  Nan  cried.  "Let  me  see; 
set  the  machine  again.  Father,  and  let  me 
see  if  he  is  there!” 

The  professor  hurriedly  readjusted  the 
machine,  and  Nan  quickly  sat  down  be- 
fore it,  imploring  her  faAer  to  turn  on 
the  current.  Low  moans  escaped  her  as 
she  contemplated  the  awful,  torturing 
situation  in  which  she  would  see  her 
lover.  Lost?  Was  he  lost  to  her  for- 
ever, doomed  to  stay  in  that  dread  place, 
while  his  living,  yet  dead,  body  remained 
on  earth,  a silent,  unresponsive  reminder 
of  their  love? 

Her  face  hidden  in  the  machine,  they 
heard  her  muflSed  voice  exclaim: 

"Robert!  Oh,  Robert!  Yes,  he  is 
there,  his  face  white,  among  their  black, 
loathsome  heads!  The  agony,  the  pain 
in  his  dear  features — Robert! — Oh-h-h!” 

Her  voice  tapered  off  in  a grief-filled 
sob,  as  they  lifted  her  from  the  seat  and 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


315 


carried  her,  half  fainting,  to  her  room. 
Dr.  Ingram  administered  restoratives, 
and  soon  she  became  quieter. 

The  men  gathered  around  the  uncon- 
scious Robert  to  discuss  the  situation,  and 
find  a way,  if  possible,  to  reclaim  his  in- 
telligence from  the  evil  domain  of  the 
Thangs. 

The  professor,  with  pitiable  eyes, 
watched  the  doaor’s  lips  as  he  talked, 
soothing,  encouraging,  and  suggesting. 
"Professor,”  he  said,  "if  a condition  can 
be  produced  in  the  rays  that  would 
create  a vortex  drawing  one’s  intelligence 
into  that  other  dimension,  why  can  not 
the  angles  of  the  ray  tubes  be  reversed 
so  that  the  vortical  action  will  also  be 
reversed,  drawing  from  die  other  dimen- 
sion into  this?” 

"We  can  try  it;  I will  reset  the  ma- 
chine accordingly,”  die  professor  wrote 
the  words  rapidly  on  a pad.  He  turned, 
and  hastened  to  the  machine. 

- Nan  re-entered  the  room,  her  face 
tear-stained  but  composed,  and  the  doc- 
tor explained  the  experiment  they  were 
about  to  attempt. 

"We  will  place  his  body  again  before 
the  machine  just  as  it  was,”  the  doaor 
explained,  "and  trust  in  God  that  he  will 
be  restored  to  us.” 

"It  must  not  fail!”  Nan  said,  with 
grim  determination  in  her  eyes;  "and  if 
soul  can  call  to  soul,  if  the  human  will 
has  any  power,  if  love  can  triumph  over 
evil,  Aen  he  shall  return  to  ns,  for  I 
shall  stand  bdiind  him,  and  call  to  him 
with  all  my  soul,  all  my  will,  all  my 
love!” 

The  dcxtor  bowed,  as  if  in  homage  to 
this  display  of  powerful  and  sacred  emo- 
tion, and  at  a nod  from  the  professor 
that  he  was  ready,  prepared  with  the  as- 
sistance of  Williams  to  lead  the  uncon- 
scious Robert  to  the  machine. 

Dawn  had  come  long  since,  and  now 
the  sun  was  staring  through  the  window 


at  dbe  drawn  faces  of  the  little  group  of 
haggard  actors  in  the  strange  dr^a. 
Far  below  them,  in  the  canyon  of  the 
street,  the  city:  had  come  to  life  and  its 
human  swarm  hummed  in  a myriad  tones 
in  the  beginning  of  the  day’s  activities, 
all  unconscious  of  die  faa  that,  even 
then,  their  fate,  and  the  fate  of  like 
swarms  the  world  over,  lay  squarely  and 
solely  in  the  hands  of  fi\^  people  in  a 
room  high  above  their  heads. 

Dr.  incsram  placed  his  hands  under 
Robert’s  shoulders  and  raised  him 
to  a sitting  posture.  With  Williams  op- 
posite, they  prepared  to  lift  the  staring 
man,  and  guide  him  to  the  seat  before 
the  machine.  They  had  him  half-way  to 

his  feet,  when 

Cra-a-a-a-a-a-sh! 

One  long,  continuous,  endless  detona- 
tion of  sound  biurst  on  their  hearing! 
Hands  pressed  tightly  to  ears  failed  to 
shut  out  the  stream  of  hammering  noise 
that  beat  on  the  brain  like  the  stream 
frcHn  a fire-hose.  They  looked  at  each 
other  in  horror.  The  Madness  had  come 
again!  The  Madness!  The  Horror! 
God! 

After  the  first  crashing  shock,  their 
senses  could  detea  and  separate  tones 
and  notes  of  the  roaring  cataraa  of  hid- 
eous, discordant  clamor.  An  intermin- 
gling of  vibrations  ran  the  scale  from 
vanishing-point  below  to  that  above. 
The  tintinnabulation  of  unmusical  gongs 
strove  for  recognition  with  the  shrida, 
wails,  hoots  and  thuds  of  every  noise  de- 
vice conceivable!  The  throb  of  drums, 
the  beeps  and  klaxonings  of  signal 
horns,  the  clatter  and  clap  of  thimderous 
armament  threaded  with  shrill  screaming 
as  from  souls  in  torment.  'The  clang  and 
peal  of  crashing  bells;  the  clank  and  rat- 
tle of  dragging  chains;  the  moaning  la- 
ment of  deep-throated  whistles;  the  trum- 
petmg  and  ^wling  of  wild  beasts;  static 


316 


WEIRD  TALES 


craddings;  cries,  groans,  explosions;  a 
confusion  of  incoherent  babble  — all 
commingling  in  a heterogeneous  bedlam 
of  noise  that  beat  and  tortured  the  audi- 
tory nerve  until  the  mind  reeled! 

The  professor,  though  he  was  immune, 
knew  instantly  from  the  look  of  horror 
on  the  others’  faces  what  had  happened. 
Running,  he  procured  the  bottle  of  pre- 
cious drug,  and  in  a few  moments  all  had 
been  relieved  from  the  nerve-shaking 
eflfea  of  the  awful  din. 

For  the  time  being,  they  must  forget 
Robert.  The  authorities,  police  ofl&cials, 
public  officials,  all  who  could  be  reached 
must  be  saved.  There  must  be  vials 
found  and  charged  with  a few  drops  of 
the  drug.  They  must  be  wrapped  in  cot- 
ton, labeled,  and  dropped  from  their 
plane  on  the  landing-stages  of  the  police 
station,  the  city  hall,  the  military  bar- 
racks, and  the  government  buildings. 
They  must  sacrifice  their  immediate  per- 
sonal interests  for  the  benefit  of  society; 
for  they  knew  not  how  soon  the  source 
of  the  Horror  could  be  discovered  and 
destroyed.  The  attempt  to  restore  Rob- 
ert must  wait. 

Calm  now,  in  the  face  of  disaster,  they 
all  set  feverishly  to  work.  Nan  typed 
dozens  of  slips  bearing  the  words: 

A DROP  IN  EACH  EAR  FOR  THE  HORROR 

A DROP  IN  EACH  EAR  FOR  THE  HORROR 

A DROP  IN  EACH  EAR  FOR  THE  HORROR 

Faces  lit  by  the  weird  orange  glow 
from  the  spheres  on  the  machine  which 
the  professor  had  prepared  for  the  restor- 
ing of  Robert  and  had  not  bothered  to 
turn  off,  they  madly  filled,  wrapped  and 
labeled  the  vials,  counting  on  the  des- 
peration of  the  finders  to  follow  the  di- 
reaions.  Soon  they  were  through;  the 
drug  was  all  used.  Nan  volunteered  to 
distribute  them,  and  rushed  to  the  roof, 
a basket  filled  with  the  mind-saving  vials 
on  her  arm.  In  a few  minutes  her  plane 
was  dipping  and  soaring  over  the  heads 


of  a crazed  populace  battling  futilely  the 
maddening  stream  of  reason-wrecking 
noise. 

Back  in  the  laboratory,  the  professor 
worked  over  the  radio-deteaing  appara- 
tus. Something  was  wrong;  it  would  not 
operate.  He  needed  Robert’s  help,  but 
Robert — where  was  he?  His  body  sat 
stonily  on  the  couch,  but  his  mind  was 
in  that  evil  domain  whence  was  pouring 
the  loathsome  stream  of  damnable  enti- 
ties that  were  even  now  taking  possession 
of  the  minds  of  men  and  engaging  in  a 
wild  orgy  of  debauchery  with  their  bod- 
ies. 

Williams  was  assisting  the  professor 
as  best  he  could,  but  the  doaor,  unable 
to  help  with  the  apparatus,  stood  at  the 
window,  fascinated  by  the  scene  in  the 
street  below. 

People  were  rushing  here  and  there, 
throwing  arms  wildly  about,  praying, 
shouting,  rapidly  succumbing  to  this  sec- 
ond attack  of  the  Madness.  Try  as  they 
had,  they  had  not  forgotten;  the  awful- 
ness of  the  former  attack  came  clearly 
to  their  minds,  and  thus  weakened  re- 
sistance to  the  Horror.  Hopelessness 
seized  them;  there  was  no  comet  now  to 
blame  for  the  din.  What  could  save  the 
world?  God  had  deserted  it,  and  hell 
had  taken  charge! 

Hundreds  took  the  easiest  way  out, 
preferring  death  to  madness.  Dr.  In- 
gram saw  their  bodies  hurtling  to  the 
pavement  from  windows  of  offices  above. 
Individual  aas  of  hideousness  caught  his 
attention  as  the  holocaust  of  insanity  con- 
sumed human  reason.  A woman  with  a 
baby  clasped  to  her  breast  had  been 
kneeling  in  the  gutter,  her  face  upturned 
in  fervent  supplication.  Suddenly  she 
sprang  up,  caught  the  infant  by  the  feet^ 
and  dashed  out  its  brains  against  a pole! 
A surface  car,  the  motorman  leaning 
from  the  window  as  he  gesticulated  and 
grimaced  in  maniacal  glee,  careened  at 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


317 


high  speed  down  the  street  to  crash  into 
the  rear  of  another.  Bloodstained,  mu- 
tilated passengers  crawled  from  the 
wreck,  »and  ignoring  hideous  wounds, 
fought  or  danced  or  committed  acts  of 
indecency  as  the  Thangs  that  possessed 
their  brains  direaed! 

Fire  broke  out  in  a dozen  places;  auto- 
mobiles ran  recklessly,  over  people,  down 
the  sidewalk,  through  plate-glass  win- 
dows, until  their  mad  rush  was  stopped 
by  some  immovable  object.  A group  of 
men  and  women,  their  arms  about  one 
another’s  half -naked  bodies,  emerged 
from  a doorway,  and  milling  about,  danc- 
ing in  a dervish  frenzy,  swept  screaming 
down  the  street  to  be  blotted  out  by  a 
huge  passenger  plane  that  crashed,  flam- 
ing, from  the  sl^! 

A world  gone  mad!  Civilization  tot- 
tering! Humanity  destroying  itself  in  an 
awful  whirlpool  of  insanity!  That  was 
what  Dr.  Ingram  was  witnessing.  Scenes 
past  description;  debauchery  and  obscen- 
ity unspeakable;  murder  and  rapine;  an 
inferno  of  human  passions  rampant  on 
the  face  of  the  world!  A hideous  de- 
lirium in  which  the  black  entities  from 
hell  took  possession  of  man’s  mind! 
God!  And  this  was  occurring  in  every 
city,  in  every  country  on  the  face  of  a 
once  fair  globe! 

Sickened,  he  turned  from  the  window 
to  where  the  professor  and  Williams 
sweated  over  the  radio-detector.  They 
had  certain  changes  almost  complete,  the 
professor  had  discovered  the  strange  new 
wave  length  the  Thangs  were  using,  and 
the  machine  would  be  ready  soon. 

The  doaor  nervously  paced  the  floor, 
pausing  now  and  then  to  feel  Rob- 
ert’s pulse,  whose  cataleptic  state  re- 
mained unchanged.  Irresistibly  he  was 
drawn  again  and  again  to  the  window. 
There  was-  a little  less  confusion,  now. 
'The  street  was  filled  with  dead  and 


wreckage;  there  were  fewer  to  indulge 
in  the  wild  orgy  of  madness,  but  the 
scene  was  yet  terrible  beyond  words.  Con- 
tinuous fighting  and  self-destruction  was 
constantly  swelling  the  crimson  flood  in 
the  gutters,  choked  with  torn  and  naked 
bodies. 

Suddenly  his  heart  leaped  with  hope. 
Down  the  street  came  an  orderly  body  of 
police,  their  calm  and  sure  aaions  as 
they  commenced  the  work  of  overpower- 
ing the  insane  betokening  Nan’s  success 
in  placing  the  vials  of  the  drug  where  it 
was  needed.  A body  of  soldiers  swung 
around  another  corner,  adopting  drastic 
measures  in  an  attempt  to  save  this  little 
spot  of  civilization;  dispatching  the  badly 
wounded,  and  executing  the  hopelessly 
mad.  Perhaps  there  was  hope;  perhaps, 
in  places,  there  were  strong-minded, 
strong-willed  men  and  women  still  re- 
sisting the  maddening  din.  Now  if  they 
could  locate  and  destroy  the  demon  in 
human  form,  and  his  hellish  machine 

At  that  moment.  Nan  remrned.  White- 
faced, she  crossed  the,  room  as  in  a daze, 
and  collapsed  across  the  kneees  of  her 
lover,  who  sat  as  they  had  left  him,  star- 
ing— staring — at  nothing.  Dr.  Ingram 
approached  to  offer  encouraging  words, 
but  with  face  hidden  against  Robert’s 
hands  she  shook  her  head  and  waved 
him  away.  He  honored  her  desire  to  be 
alone;  for  the  present  her  work  was  done. 

The  doaor  turned  to  where  the  pro- 
fessor and  Williams  still  labored  at  the 
device  to  which  they  pinned  their  hopes 
of  saving  a disintegrating  society.  He 
saw  the  professor  straighten  his  bent  old 
form,  a look  of  triumph  in  his  eyes.  He 
turned  and  motioned  excitedly  to  the  doc- 
tor, who  sprang  to  his  side.  Williams 
was  gazing,  fascinated  at  the  wonder  of 
the  professor’s  accomplishment,  at  a glass 
sphere.  Inside  it,  suspended  on  a thin 
wire,  was  a needle  that  wavered,  hesi- 
tated, then  pointed  straight  down!  The 


318 


WEIRD  TALES 


professor  wrote  rapidly  on  a pad,  and  the 
doaor  read  the  startling  words: 

“That  'devil  machine’  is  in  the  base- 
ment of  this  very  building!’’ 

Dr.  Ingram  showed  the  pad  to  Nan, 
who  nodded  disinterestedly,  and  again 
bowed  her  head  on  Robert’s  knee  in  si- 
lent grief. 

Quickly,  the  three  men  prepared  to  in- 
vade the  basement,  to  search  for  the  room 
in  which  was  hidden  the  maniac  with  his 
inconceivable  device  that  continued  to 
send  out  through  the  ether  the  hideous, 
maddening  cyclone  of  clamor.  Here,  no 
doubt,  he  had  built  a duplicate  machine 
along  with  the  first  one  that  had  so  near- 
ly wrecked  the  world.  With  insane  cun- 
ning, the  tool  of  the  Thangs  had  pre- 
pared the  second  attack  against  the  possi- 
ble failure  of  the  first,  and  had  boldly 
located  his  diabolical  instrument  close  to 
where  he  could  the  sooner  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  their  mad  plan.  To  say  that  he  would 
'defend  it  with  all  the  maniacal  fury  of  a 
leader  of  his  foul  brood  would  be  putting 
it  mildly  indeed.  They  were  entering 
on  a dangerous  mission! 

The  professor  produced  strange-look- 
ing  automatic  pistols — terrible  weapons, 
(jiildren  of  his  prolific  inventive  mind — 
and  they  descended  the  stairs.  Adequate- 
ly armed  though  they  were,  none  of  them 
was  of  the  fighting  type,  and  two  were 
old,  well  past  the  age  when  man’s  heart 
thrills  to  the  excitement  of  combat. 

But  bravely  they  traversed  the  deserted 
corridors  and  crept  down  the  silent  steps. 
The  elevators  had  ceased  running  hours 
ago,  the  operators  flinging  themselves 
into  that  maelstrom  of  madness  in  the 
streets.  Deserted,  open  offices  spoke 
mutely  of  the  tragedy  that  had  engulfed 
Aeir  occupants.  But  here  and  there, 
dirough  an  open  door,  th^  cau^t  a 
glimpse  of  a still  figure  sprawled  at  a 
desk  or  on  the  fl(X)r,  dutdiing  in  a stiffen- 


ing hand  the  grim  weapon  that  had 
meant  a way  out. 

The  basement  reached,  they  cautiously 
explored  its  silent  corridors.  Here  was 
the  power  room;  here  lodcers,  storage 
rooms  filled  with  discarded  shelving, 
store  fixtures  and  so  on;  here  a shop  for 
the  maintenance  of  the  machinery  in  the 
big  building.  Through  it  all  they 
searched,  fruitlessly,  fingers  clenched 
around  ready  weapons.  They  found  no 
sign  of  the  hidden  source  of  the  Horror 
until  before  them  yawned  the  darkened 
steps  to  the  sub-basement. 

Below,  in  the  gloom,  each  thought  they 
caught  a glimpse  of  a dim  skulking  fontn, 
but  a beam  from  a flashlight  in  the  hand 
of  Williams  revealed  nothing.  Was  it 
imagination?  Slowly  descending  the 
steps,  the  silent  trio — ^Williams  first,  then 
the  doaor  and  professor — continued  the 
search.  Nothing  save  some  silent  ma- 
chinery, piles  of  piping,  and  cobwebbed 
abutments  ma  ffieir  eyes.  Advancing 
farther  into  the  yawning  darkness,  the 
ray  of  light  fell  suddenly  on  the  outlines 
of  a door  set  in  the  conaete  wall  at  the 
rear.  Williams  signaled  for  silence,  and 
extinguished  the  light.  Then  through 
the  blackness  gleamed  a yellow  streak 
from  under  the  door.  Each  instinaively 
knew  they  were  near  the  end  of  their 
search,  and  caught  their  breaths  at  the 
dangerous  task  before  them. 

Slowly,  silently,  they  crept  closer  to  the 
closed  door.  Surely,  behind  it  must  lie 
that  which  they  must  risk  their  lives  to 
destroy,  for  all  other  possibilities  had 
been  exhausted,  and  each  had  supreme 
faith  in  the  accuracy  of  the  professor’s 
device  which  had  indicated  this  basement 
as  the  source  of  the  nerve-shattering 
noise. 

Williams,  cautiously  advancing  in  the 
daricness,  with  the  doctor  and  professor 
dose  behind,  felt  his  outstretdied  fin- 
gers come  in  contaa  wkh  the  conaete 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


319 


wall.  The  faint  yellow  light  from  imder 
the  door  guided  him  to  it,  and  kneeling, 
he  peered  through  the  keyhole.  He  saw 
a limited  seaion  of  a well-lighted  room, 
but  within  range  of  his  vision  was 
enough  paraphernalia  of  an  elearical  na- 
ture to  convince  him  that  he  was  at  the 
door  to  the  den  of  the  maniac — the  mad, 
Thang-possessed  inventor  of  the  device 
that  was  wrecking  the  world! 

Cautiously,  he  tried  the  knob.  The 
door  was  unlocked,  and  snapping  on  the 
flashlight  for  a second,  he  signaled  with 
a nod  that  they  could  enter.  Gathering 
all  the  nerve  at  his  command,  Williams 
flung  open  the  door,  and  the  three,  with 
hearts  thumping,  but  with  weapons  held 
desperately  ready,  sprang  into  the  room. 
Nothing  happened;  no  one  was  in 
sight. 

For  a moment  they  stood  quietly  wait- 
ing for  their  eyes  to  become  accus- 
tomed to  the  light,  and  then  they  won- 
deringly  surveyed  the  room.  So  large  an 
array  of  glittering  apparatus  was  before 
them,  that  its  separate  parts  did  not  im- 
mediately register  on  their  senses.  Three 
features,  however,  caught  and  held  their 
attention.  There  was  the  ceiling,  from 
which  was  hung  on  insulated  supports  a 
huge  network  of  wires  that  was  unques- 
tionably an  aerial  for  the  broadcasting  of 
wireless  signals.  There  in  a comer  was 
a large  switchboard,  with  its  shining 
rows  of  switches  and  meters  and  rheo- 
stats. Above  the  mbber  mat  that  covered 
the  floor  before  the  switchboard,  hanging 
at  a height  slightly  above  their  heads,  was 
a bank  of  huge  coils,  joined  at  the  bottom 
by  a thick  steel  plate.  And  there,  to  one 
side,  was  the  monstrous,  madly  working 
device  that,  plainly,  was  the  objea  of 
their  search. 

But  where  was  the  mad  creator  and 
operator  of  this  colleaion  of  electrical 
and  mechanical  monstrosities?  Again 


they  carefully  scanned  the  room.  As 
crowded  as  it  was,  they  could  see  no  place 
where  one  could  hide.  Ah,  no  douli  the 
madman  was  out  in  the  streets,  blood- 
thirstily taking  part  in  the  hideous  orgy 
that  a maddened  world  had  been  plunged 
into,  crazed  by  the  awful  clamorous 
racket  that  his  machine  was  even  now 
automatically  hurling  through  the  ether. 

Turing  to  the  devil-device,  they  were 
fascinated  by  the  whirling,  whirring,  vi- 
brating aaivity  of  the  thing.  At  one  side 
was  an  electric  motor,  direct-conneaed 
to  it  by  a spinning  shaft  that  disappeared 
into  its  interior.  This  gave  life  to  the 
dozens  of  mechanisms  mounted  in  and  on 
the  vast  framework,  which  seemed  like 
a huge  hive  alive  with  myriads  of  me- 
chanical bees.  Aroimd  the  whole,  a cir- 
cle of  microphones  received  and  dis- 
tributed the  hellish  noise. 

For  a few  moments,  the  three  who  had 
come  to  destroy  it  gazed  in  awe  at  the 
marvelous  device.  There  were  huge 
knobbed  arms  that  beat  with  monoton- 
ous regularity  on  drumheads  of  all  sizes. 
Other  arms  clanged  frantically  against 
a row  of  discordant  gongs.  Pieces  of 
polished  metal  rose  and  fell  and  clanked 
together.  Great  bows  seesawed  back  and 
forth  across  resined  strings.  Homs  of 
every  conceivable  type  hung  here  and 
there,  and  steadily  squawked  or  shrieked 
in  a hideous  chorus.  Flashing  bits  of 
metal  or  w<X)d  rotated  or  vibrated  as  each 
contributed  its  part  to  the  revolting  holo- 
caust of  sound.  They  were  devoutly 
thankful  for  the  drug  in  their  ears  that 
rendered  them  deaf  to  it.  But  now  it 
must  be  stopped;  where  was  the  control 
for  that  spinning  motor  that  ran  the  aw- 
ful thing?  Ah,  there  on  the  switchboard 
was  a three-pole  switch,  larger  than  all 
the  rest.  It  must  control  the  whole 
board,  and  to  pull  it  would  stop 

All  three  sprang  forward  at  the  com- 
mon thought.  Williams  was  first;  the 


320 


.WEIRD  TALES 


others  were  close  beside  him.  His  hand 
stretdied  out  to  seize  the  handle. 

Clang! 

Some  invisible  force  jerked  upward 
the  hands  that  held  their  weapons,  the 
steel  guns  were  pulled  from  their  fingers 
and  clashed  against  the  bar  fastened  to 
the  huge  coils  overhead,  where  diey  stuck, 
immovable! 

Disarmed  by  an  elearo-magnet! 

Astounded,  they  half  turned  and 
caught  sight  of  a grotestjue  figure  against 
the  wall,  at  one  side  of  the  door  they  had 
entered.  His  left  hand  was  still  on  the 
switch  with  which  he  had  sent  the  cur- 
rent through  the  magnet  that  had  dis- 
armed diem.  His  ri^t  held  an  auto- 
matic pistol  diat  unwaveringly  covered 
them.  Trapped! 

Wild  eyes  mocked  them  with  an  in- 
sane glare,  and  then  from  a mouth  that 
drooled  bloody  foam  came  peal  after 
pea!  of  maniac^  laughter,  though  merci- 
fully, in  their  deafness,  they  could  not 
hear  it.  Blood  showed  on  the  maniac’s 
flesh  dirough  the  rents  in  his  muddy 
clothes.  Matted  hair  hung  over  his  glit- 
tering eyes  and  added  to  his  loathsome 
appearance.  Not  for  an  instant  did  those 
eyes  leave  them,  as  he  stooped  and  picked 
from  the  floor  a long  sharp  knife  still 
dripping  red  from  his  participation  in 
the  terrible  orgy  in  the  streets.  He  came 
slowly  toward  them,  the  bloodlust  in  his 
eyes,  and  laughing  with  unholy  glee  at 
the  terror  he  inspired. 

Lost!  Each  gave  thought  to  the  dire 
word,  but  each  was  thinking  most  of  the 
faa  that  they  had  failed,  and  that  failure 
meant  the  loss  of  a world!  Paralyzed 
with  horror  at  the  thought,  they  waited 
while  the  maniac  crept  nearer,  and  yet 
nearer.  But,  with  insane  cunning,  he 
did  not  come  too  close,  but  paused  some 
fifteen  feet  away.  At  this,  the  hope  that 
had  begun  to  mount  in  Williams’  breast 
ebbed  entirely  away;  he  had  been  plan- 


ning a sudden  rush  in  which  he  would 
have  a bare  chance,  should  die  Thang- 
possessed  madman  come  close  enough. 
Now,  however,  all  three  would  fall  un- 
der his  bullets  before  Williams  could 
take  a single  step. 

Hopelessly,  helplessly,  they  watched 
him,  as  a bird  watches,  charmed,  the  sway- 
ing evil  head  of  a reptile.  Motioning  with 
gun  and  knife,  he  herded  them  away 
from  the  switchboard  to  the  baric  of  the 
room,  where  he  lined  them  up  with  their 
backs  to  the  door.  To  what  tortures  was 
he  about  to  put  their  helpless  bodies? 
God!  Let  him  kill  them  and  get  it  over 
with;  all  hope  was  gone,  the  world  was 
lost;  what  mattered  their  lives  now? 

The  professes:  suffered  mental  tortures 
beyond  the  others.  He  was  thinking  of 
Nan,  up  there  in  the  laboratory  with  the 
living  husk  of  her  beloved  Robert.  Soon 
the  effea  of  the  drug  would  wear  off,  and 
she  would  be  a victim  to  the  maddening 
din  of  the  Horror!  And  Robert’s  soul, 
doomed  to  eternal  torment  in  the  dimen- 
sion of  the  Thangs!  A picture  of  their 
separate  fates  rose  before  his  eyes;  Rob- 
ert’s agonized  face  floating  among  the 
loathsome  heads  of  the  Thangs  in  that 
hellish  orange  atmosphere — forever!  And 
Nan,  his  little  Nan,  running,  wild,  half- 
naked  and  insane,  screaming,  through 
blood-filled  streets!  No!  No!  It  must 
not  be!  Yes — he’d  try  it — God  grant 
him  strength  to  get  to  that  switch  before 
the  maniac’s  knife  or  bullets  stopped 
him! — ^Now!  Now! 

'The  professor,  sobbing,  shaking  in  the 
desperation  of  his  wild  resolve,  wheeled, 
and  staggered  toward  the  switchboard, 
hand  outstretched!  'The  blaric  form  of 
the  madman  darted  between  him  and  his 
goal,  and  with  knife  redly  gleaming, 
drew  it  back  to  thrust  its  crimson  lengdi 
into  his  body!  'The  leering  face  was 
close  to  his  own,  and  the  drooling  mouth 
breathed  its  fetid  breath  into  his  nostrfb; 

W.T.— 2 


THE  INVADING  MADNESS 


321 


as  the  red  blade  began  its  forward,  up- 
ward sweep!  And  then 

Flash! 

Something — some  invisible  force — 
tore  the  crimson  knife  from  the  mad- 
man’s hand,  and  sent  it  spinning  against 
the  wall,  where  it  clattered  to  the  floor, 
bits  of  reddened  flesh  clinging  to  its  hilt! 
Another  flash!  And  the  gun  flew  through 
the  air,  and  fell  to  the  floor  beside  the 
knife!  The  maniac  stumbled  backward, 
threw  behind  him  two  bloody  bands  in 
a proteaive  gesture,  and  grasped  the 
bare  blades  of  two  shining  switches  on 
the  board!  His  teeth,  exposed  by  curling 
lips,  clamped  shut;  the  red  pupils  of  his 
eyes  disappeared  upward  behind  black 
brows,  and  left  the  whites  dully  gleaming 
through  the  strings  of  his  matted  hair. 
His  body  grew  instantly  rigid,  and  curl- 
ing tentacles  of  smoke  spiraled  upward 
from  his  burning  flesh.  Stiff,  black, 
smoking,  a charred  demon  from  hell,  he 
hung  grotesquely  there,  a crucified  sac- 
rifice to  his  own  mad  genius.  The  tool 
of  the  Thangs  was  dead! 

The  professor  sank,  fainting,  to  the 
fl(X)r.  Williams  and  the  doctor  had 
turned,  startled  and  astonished,  when  the 
professor  had  bolted  from  their  side  in 
his  desperate  attempt;  but  the  aaion  was 
so  quick,  events  moved  so  rapidly,  that 
it  was  several  seconds  before  they  raised 
their  eyes,  and  beheld  framed  in  the  door 
the  stalwart  form  of  Robert  Hargrane! 
A pistol,  a thin  thread  of  pale  smoke 
curling  up  from  its  muzzle,  was  in  his 
hand.  And  behind  him,  peering  over  his 
shoulder  were  the  frightened  eyes  of 
Nan  Answorth! 

Robert  Hargrane!  Eyes  no  longer 
staring,  staring  at  nothing.  Mind  no 
longer  held  in  tortured  thrall  in  the 
hideous  domain  of  the  Thangs;  but  here, 
with  his  own  kind  again,  in  time  to  save 
them,  and  save  the  mind  of  the  world! 
He  strode  forward  and  raised  his  band  to 
W.T.— 3 


the  rubber  handle  of  the  shining  switch. 
As  he  jerked  it  open,  they  saw  his  body 
sharply  outlined  against  the  blue  flame 
of  its  arc;  and  beside  him,  the  thing  that 
was  the  maniac  sank,  smoking,  to  the 
floor,  staring  with  dead  eyes  at  its  whirl- 
ing, whirring,  mind-destroying  creation 
while  it  slowed,  and  stopped.  The  Hor- 
ror was  ended. 

Bacx  in  the  professor’s  laboratory,  the 
four  men  gazed  wonderingly  at 
Nan.  'The  effects  of  the  drug  were  di- 
minishing, and  it  was  good  to  hear  again. 

"I  could  not  wait,”  Nan  was  sobbing, 
with  joy,  "and  while  you  were  gone  I 
got  Robert  to  the  machine.  You  had 
turned  it  on.  Father,  and  after  I succeed- 
ed in  getting  him  on  the  seat,  and  his 
face  through  the  curtain,  I just  stood  be- 
hind him  and  prayed,  and  called,  and 
called.  And  he  came  back  to  me.” 

The  Reconstruaion  was  urgent,  but 
must  wait;  the  sane  of  the  world, 
worn  out  by  the  physical  and  mental  tor- 
ture, just  now  must  sleep.  Strength  must 
be  stored  up  for  the  stupendous  task  that 
faced  them.  And  so,  seeking  places  of 
protection  against  the  maddened  ones 
who  still  roamed  the  streets,  they  sought 
strength  and  temporary  forgetfulness  in 
restful  oblivion. 

Two  persons,  however,  were  awake. 
Nan  and  Robert  sat  close  together  on  the 
couch  in  her  father’s  laboratory.  Tomor- 
row they  would  do  their  part,  but  now 
they  had  no  thought  but  for  each  other. 
While  his  hand  lightly  caressed  her  soft 
hair,  she  whispered: 

"Was  it  as  terrible  as  your  poor  face 
indicated,  dear,  there  with — with  those 
terrible  Thangs?” 

And  as  Robert  turned  her  lips  up  to 
his,  he  breathed: 

"Not  much  worse  than  it  would  be 
here  without  you,  sweetheart.” 


?unGi-  rram-:7ueeocH 


1.  THE  COURTYARD 

It  was  the  city  I had  known  before; 

The  ancient,  leprous  town  where  mongrel  throngs 
Chant  to  strange  gods,  and  beat  unhallowed  gongs 
In  crypts  beneath  foul  ajleys  near  the  shore. 

The  rotting,  fish-eyed  houses  leered  at  me 
From  where  they  leaned,  drunk  and  half-animate. 

As  edging  through  the  filth  I passed  the  gate 
To  the  black  courtyard  where  the  man  would  be. 

The  dark  walls  closed  me  in,  and  loud  I aused 
That  ever  I had  come  to  such  a den. 

When  suddenly  a score  of  windows  burst 

Into  wild  light,  and  swarmed  with  dancing  men: 
Mad,  soundless  revels  of  the  dragging  dead — 

And  not  a corpse  had  either  hands  or  head! 

2.  STAR-WINDS 

It  is  a certain  hour  of  twilight  glooms. 

Mostly  in  autumn,  when  the  star-wind  pours 
Down  hilltop  streets,  deserted  out-of-doors. 

But  showing  early  lamplight  from  snug  rooms. 

The  dead  leaves  rush  in  strange,  fantastic  twists. 

And  chimney-smoke  whirls  round  with  alien  grace. 
Heeding  geometries  of  outer  space. 

While  Fomalhaut  peers  in  through  southward  mists. 

This  is  the  hour  when  moonstruck  poets  know 
What  fungi  sprout  in  Yuggoth,  and  what  scents 
And  tints  of  flowers  fill  NiAon’s  continents. 

Such  as  in  no  poor  earthly  garden  blow. 

Yet  for  each  dream  these  winds  to  us  convey, 

A dozen  more  of  ours  they  sweep  away! 


1.  The  Mysterious  Coffin 

WONDER  who’s  dead?”  inquired 
I Dan  Callahan,  driver  of  Yankton’s 
sole  taxicab,  pointing  at  a long 
wooden  box  with  brass  handles,  which 
lay  on  a baggage-truck  on  the  station 
platform. 

"Search  me!”  replied  the  station  agent, 
without  interest.  "Look  at  the  tag,  if 
you’re  that  curious.” 


But  Dan  quite  evidently  wasn’t  that 
curious,  for  he  slouched  into  a chair  be- 
side the  one  in  which  the  agent  sat, 
against  the  only  cool  wall  of  the  freight 
house.  It  was  late  afternoon — or,  rather, 
early  evening — of  an  unusually  hot  June 
day.  'There  never  was  very  much  doing 
in  Yankton,  Pennsylvania,  and  less  than 
usual  this  particular  afternoon. 

The  taxi-driver  took  a crumpled  pack- 

323 


324 


WEIRD  TALES 


age  from  one  of  his  blouse  pockets, 
hshed  out  a crushed  cigarette,  replaced 
the  package,  tapped  the  cigarette  on  his 
chair,  put  the  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  took 
off  his  cap,  ran  his  finger  around  in  the 
sweatband,  found  a match  there,  replaced 
the  cap,  and  lit  up.  The  station  agent  was 
already  smoking  a pipe.  The  two  sat  and 
puffed  in  silence,  watching  the  coffin; 
not  that  they  expeaed  it  to  do  anything 
worth  watching  for,  but  merely  that  it 
happened  to  be  direaly  in  the  line  of 
their  vision,  and  hence  was  as  easy  to 
focus  on  as  anything  else. 

The  shadow  of  the  freight  house  gradu- 
ally lengthened  in  front  of  them,  and 
objects  in  the  distance  took  on  a reddish 
tinge.  The  definiteness  of  the  shadow  be- 
came blurred,  the  red  tinge  faded  out,  and 
blue  twilight  began  to  fall.  A faint  warm 
breeze  crept  down  the  tracks.  Bats  flut- 
tered in  and  out  under  the  canopy  of  the 
station  platform,  in  pursuit  of  flies  and 
midges. 

A clatter  and  a roar  and  a swirl  of  cin- 
ders, as  an  east-bound  train  swept  by; 
then  silence  again,  the  oppressive  silence 
of  a warm  summer  evening.  Heat-light- 
ning played  over  the  hills  in  the  distance. 

Dan  Callahan,  the  taxi-driver,  un- 
tilted his  chair,  arose  slowly,  and 
stretched  his  arms. 

"No  passengers  tonight,”  said  he,  "so 
I guess  I’ll  be  going  home  to  Maggie  and 
the  kids.” 

"Say,  will  you  look  at  that!”  inter- 
rupted the  railroad  man.  "One  of  them 
bats  is  trying  to  get  into  the  coffin.” 

Dan  looked,  and  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  Clinging  to  the  edge  of  the  box, 
close  to  the  lock,  was  a small  brown  bat, 
fluttering  as  though  with  suppressed  ex- 
citement. As  the  two  men  stared,  another 
bat  joined  the  first. 

"They  give  me  the  creeps,”  asserted 
the  agent,  as.  rising  from  his  chair  and 


shuddering,  he  switched  on  the  platform 
lights. 

"Hasn’t  it  turned  a bit  cold?”  asked 
Dan,  shuddering  too. 

'The  squeak  of  automobile  brakes  was 
heard,  and  then  a third  figure  rounded 
the  corner  of  the  freight  house.  'The 
newcomer  was  a young  man  still  in  his 
twenties;  erect,  well  dressed,  with  straight 
pointed  nose,  firm  jaw,  and  pleasing 
smile. 

"Hello,  Doc,”  Dan  greeted  him  eager- 
ly. "How’s  my  little  boy?” 

"I’ve  just  come  from  your  house,”  re- 
plied the  doctor.  "You’ll  be  glad  to  know 
that  the  little  fellow  is  mudi  better. 
Responding  to  treatment  beautifully.  I 
believe  that  I may  safely  say  that  he  is 
out  of  danger.” 

"Doctor  Crane,”  said  Callahan  fervent- 
ly, "you’re  a wizard  and  a brick.  I thought 
sure  I was  going  to  lose  little  Dan. 
You’ve  saved  his  life,  and  if  there  is  any- 
thing that  I can  ever  do  for  you  this  sfde 
of  hell,  just  ask  me.  That’s  dl,  sir.” 

“It’s  nothing — ^nothing,”  replied  Crane 
deprecatingly;  “merely  my  professiond 
duty.  And  a great  pleasure,  I assure  you. 
Such  a manly  little  fellow.” 

"Say,  Doc,”  interrupted  the  station 
agent,  "will  you  look  at  them  birds  try- 
ing to  get  into  that  there  coffin?” 

"Well,  well,  so  they  are,”  replied  Dr. 
Crane,  jovially.  "I  wonder  what’s  attraci 
ting  them.” 

“And  here  comes  the  great  grand- 
daddy  of  them  all,”  added  the  agent,  as  a 
grayish  bat  of  fully  two-foot  wing-spread 
swooped  downpour  of  the  gathering  dusk, 
hooked  its  wings  onto  the  edge  of  the 
box,  and  snapped  viciously  at  the  two 
little  brown  bats  already  there.  They  fled 
squeaking,  but  still  fluttered  around  in 
die  vicinity. 

"Hm,”  remarked  the  doaor,  profes- 
sionally. 

"Must  be  one  of  these  there  umpire 


ANOTHER  DRACULA? 


325 


bats  I’ve  heard  tell  about,”  suggested  the 
station  agent. 

Dr.  Crane  strode  over  to  the  box,  and 
brushed  the  huge  creature  aside  with  one 
hand.  'The  bat  snapped  at  him,  and  then 
shambled  to  one  end  of  the  top  of  the 
box,  where  it  crouched  menacingly.  The 
doaor  stooped  and  sniffed  at  the  cradc. 

"Hm,”  he  ruminated.  "Peculiar  smell, 
very,  but  not  at  all  what  I expeaed.  No 
wonder  it  attracts  these  little  creatures. 
As  public  health  officer,  I must  get  it  to 
the  undertaker’s  at  once.  Who  does  it 
belong  to?” 

"Dunno,  Doc,”  replied  the  agent. 
"Look  at  the  tag.” 

By  the  light  of  the  platform-lamps. 
Crane  read  aloud,  " ’Mr.  Peter  Larousse, 
Yankton,  Pa.’  Who  is  he,  I wonder? 
’There’s  no  one  of  that  name  lives  here.” 

"I  am  he,”  said  a quiet  voice  behind 
them. 

NPNE  of  them  had  heard  any-one  ap- 
proach. ’They  turned,  and  saw 
that  a fourth  man  had  silently  joined 
them.  He  was  tali,  well  over  six  feet 
in  height.  Dressed  entirely  in  black, 
with  a short  black  Inverness  cape  across 
his  shoulders,  fastened  at  the  neck  by  a 
single  clasp  of  gold  with  jet  stones.  In 
his  right  hand  he  held  a black  stiff  hat, 
rather  narrowed  at  the  top  of  the  crown. 

He  was  old,  of  an  indefinable  age,  yet 
erea,  and  exuding  power  and  vigor.  Clean- 
shaved,  he  was,  except  for  a drooping 
white  mustache.  His  face  was  aquiline, 
with  high-bridged  thin  nose  and  pecu- 
liarly arched  nostrils.  He  had  a lofty 
domed  forehead,  crowned  with  white 
hair,  profuse  except  around  the  temples, 
where  it  was  scanty.  His  eyebrows  were 
iron-gray  and  massive,  almost  meeting 
over  the  nose,  and  composed  of  profuse 
bushy  hairs.  The  mouth,  so  far  as  it 
showed  under  the  heavy  mustache,  was 
fixed  and  rather  cruel-looking,  with  pe- 


culiarly sharp  white  teeth.  ’These  pro- 
truded over  the  lips,  whose  remarkable 
ruddiness  showed  astonishing  vitality  for 
a man  of  his  evident  years.  His  ears 
were  pale,  and  at  the  tops  extremely 
pointed;  the  chin  was  broad  and  strong, 
and  the  cheeks  firm  though  thin.  The 
general  effea  was  one  of  extraordinary 
pallor. 

His  hands,  at  first  glance,  seemed 
white  and  fine,  but  closer  scrutiny  dis- 
closed them  to  be  rather  coarse — broad, 
with  squat  fingers.  In  faa,  most  of  the 
featittes  of  his  anatomy,  although  appear- 
ing delicate  and  refined  at  first,  never- 
theless suffered  by  prolonged  examina- 
tion. 

His  general  appearance,  however,  was 
courtly,  aristocratic,  and  foreign  in  the 
extreme. 

But  the  most  noticeable  single  item 
about  him  was  his  eyes:  small,  gimlet- 
boring and  bloodshot  without  being  in 
the  least  bleary.  'The  three  men  who  had 
preceded  him  on  the  station  platform 
laid  the  redness  of  his  eyes  to  the  setting 
sun;  but  the  sun  had  long  since  set,  and 
the  platform  was  now  illumined  by  its 
elearic  lights. 

"I  am  Peter  Larousse,”  he  repeated, 
ignoring  the  rudeness  of  their  stares. 
"Did  I hear  some  one  mention  my 
name?” 

"Pardon  us,  sir,”  replied  the  doaor. 
"You  startled  us.  I am  Doaor  Crane,  the 
village  health  officer.” 

Crane  advanced,  extending  his  right 
hand,  but  the  stranger  did  not  grasp  it. 
Instead,  he  swung  his  hat  aaoss  his 
breast,  and  made  a courtly  bow. 

"You  will  excuse  me,  I am  sure,”  said 
he,  "for  not  shaking  hands,  as  I have 
an  unexplainable  aversion  to  personal 
contacts.  Well,  you  called  for  Monsieur 
Larousse,  and  here  I am.  What  do  you 
wish  of  me?” 


326 


WEIRD  TALES 


"Is  that  your  coflSn?"  asked  the  doctor 
abruptly,  becoming  a bit  nettled. 

The  stranger  frowned,  then  smiled 
quizzically. 

"Yes  and  no,”  he  answered.  "If  you 
mean  am  I inside  k,  the  answer  is  no. 
But  if  you  mean  is  it  consigned  to  me, 
the  answer  is  yes.  I am  not  dead — 
yet.” 

He  bowed  again. 

"Well,  it  will  have  to  get  to  the  un- 
dertaker’s at  once,”  asserted  Crane.  "It’s 
a menace  to  the  health  of  the  commu- 
nity.” 

"In  what  way,  may  I ask?”  inquired 
Monsieur  Larousse,  serenely. 

"It  is  already  attracting  vermin,”  re- 
plied the  doaor. 

The  large  gray  bat  was  no  longer  to 
be  seen,  but  the  two  little  brown  bats 
had  returned  and  were  clawing  at  the  lid. 

"Ah,  the  darlings!”  exclaimed  the 
stranger,  gloatingly. 

Striding  over  to  the  coffin,  he  shifted 
his  pointed  hat  to  his  left  hand,  and 
scratched  first  one  of  the  little  creatures, 
and  then  the  other,  on  the  head. 

"See,”  he  said  turning,  "they  like  me. 
'They  know  a friend.  I love  all  animals, 
and  all  animals  love  me.  I have  a way 
with  them.  But  now  to  get  down  to 
business.  You  wish  this  coffin  removed, 
doaor?  So  do  1.  What  is  the  next 
step?” 

'"This  is  Mr.  Daniel  Callahan,  of  the 
Commonwealth  Garage,”  introduced  the 
doaor.  "He  can  get  his  motor-trudc  at 
once.  The  undertaker,  being  an  under- 
taker, can  be  found  at  any  hour.  This 
other  gentleman  is  Mr.  Bill  Jones,  the 
station  agent,  who  can  release  the  ship- 
ment. And  I am  the  health  officer,  as  I 
have  already  stated.” 

"Ah,  what  a fortuitous  conjunaion  of 
personages!”  murmured  Monsieur  La- 
rousse. "The  arrangements  sound  excel- 
lent.” 


While  Dan  departed  for  his  truck, 
and  the  agent  unlocked  the  freight  house 
and  turned  on  the  lights  inside.  Dr. 
Crane  asked,  "And  what  are  your  plans 
for  the  body? — that  is,  I assume  the  cof- 
fin contains  a body.” 

Ignoring  the  implied  question,  the 
stranger  answered,  "It  is,  of  course,  to  be 
buried — in  your  local  cemetery,  to  be  ex- 
plicit. What  formalkies  are  necessary?” 

"You  will  have  to  have  a cemetery 
lot.” 

"I  have  such  a lot.” 

"And  a permit  from  the  village  clerk.” 

"I  should  like  to  see  him  at  once, 
then.” 

"He  will  be  in  his  office  tomorrow 
morning.” 

"He  shall  have  to  see  me  this  eve- 
ning,” asserted  the  foreigner  imperious- 
ly. "I  suffer  from  a disease  known  as 
dermatitis  exfoliativa  tropica.  You,  as 
a physician,  will  realize  that  that  means 
I must  avoid  the  daylight  as  much  as 
possible.  Can  not  the  cleric,  for  a fee, 
be  induced  to  transaa  official  business 
in  the  evening?”  ^ 

"I  am  sure  he  can,”  agreed  the  doaor 
smiling,  "when  I tell  him  about  your 
disease.  Would  you  mind  my  offering 
you  my  professional  services?  The  exaa 
sort  of  dermatitis  which  you  mention  is 
a rare  disease,  at  least  among  white  peo- 
ple; and  I have  never  had  the  privilege 
of  treating,  or  even  observing,  a case.” 

"Then  I refuse  to  be  experimented 
upon,”  replied  the  stranger,  drawing  him- 
self up  haughtily. 

Just  then  Dan  Callahan  returned  with 
his  truck,  and  the  four  men  put  the  box 
aboard.  The  box  was  unusually  heavy, 
which  rendered  all  the  more  noticeable 
the  effortless  ease  with  which  the  stran- 
ger handled  his  quarter  of  the  load. 

"Gosh!”  exclaimed  the  agent,  wiping 
his  forehead.  "It  must  weigh  a ton.” 

"Ah,  my  friends,”  explained  the 


ANOTHER  DRACULA? 


' 327 


stranger,  "there  is  a lead  lining  inside.” 

"Then  how  the  devil  did  the  smell  get 
out?”  blurted  Dan. 

The  stranger  glared  at  him,  and  said 
nothing. 

"Will  you  ride  with  me?”  invited  Dr. 
Crane. 

"Thank  you,  no,"  replied  Larousse 
with  a slight  inclination  of  his  head. 
"The  night  is  beautiful.  I will  walk — 
Oh,  just  a moment.  One  mote  question. 
Need  the  cofiin  be  opened  by  any  one?” 

"Not  if  you  have  the  death  certificate 
with  you.” 

"I  have  the  certificate.” 

So  the  truck  and  the  doctor’s  car  drove 
away  up  the  street  toward  the  center  of 
the  village.  The  station  agent  re-entered 
his  office  to  put  out  the  lights.  And  a 
large  gray  bat  hovered  around  the  coffin 
in  the  departing  express-truck. 

The  center  of  the  village,  a typical 
one-street  Pennsylvania  valley-town, 
was  a bustle  of  early  summer  evening 
activity.  Stores  alight  for  the  evening 
trade.  Music  issuing  from  the  open 
doors  of  the  movie-house.  Couples 
strolling  back  and  forth.  Groups  chat- 
ting at  the  street  comers. 

The  gray  bat  did  not  follow  the  coffin 
into  the  bright  lights  of  Yankton’s  gay 
white  way. 

Dr.  Crane  and  Dan  Callahan  found 
the  undertaker’s  wife  at  home,  and  she 
sent  one  of  the  children  out  to  locate  her 
husband.  When  he  finally  arrived,  the 
three  men  tried  to  move  the  coffin,  and 
were  having  a terrible  time  at  the  task 
when  a calm  voice  near  them  said,  "Per- 
mit me  to  assist.” 

It  was  the  tall  stranger  again.  With 
his  help,  they  moved  the  box  with  sur- 
prizing ease. 

Next  Dr.  Crane  and  Monsieur  La- 
rousse hunted  up  the  village  clerk,  got 


him  down  to  his  office,  and  secured  the 
necessary  burial  permit. 

When  this  formality  was  over, 
"Where  are  you  staying?”  the  doctor 
asked. 

’The  stranger  drew  himself  up. 

"That,  my  dear  sir,”  said  he  frigidly, 
"concerns  no  one  but  myself.” 

'The  young  doaor  hastened  to  apolo- 
gize. 

"I  only  thought  we  might  need  to  lo- 
cate you,  sir,  if  there  should  be  any  hitch 
in  the  proceedings,”  said  he. 

"There  will  be  no  ’iiitch,’  as  you  call 
it,”  replied  Larousse,  frigidly.  "I  have 
made  all  the  necessary  arrangements 
with  the  undertaker,  and  he  assures  me 
that  there  can  be  no  unexpeaed  compli- 
cations. I shall  remain  in  this  beautiful 
little  town  for  a considerable  while.  You 
will  find  me  every  evening  somewhere 
along  this  street.” 

And  bowing  ceremoniously,  he  stalked 
off. 

"After  all  that  I’ve  done  for  him,” 
said  Crane  to  himself,  "he  might  have 
been  a little  more  polite.  A queer, 
queer  man.  My,  what  a spooky  eve- 
ning!” 

'The  big  gray  bat  swooped  by,  in  spite 
of  the  bright  lights,  startling  the  doaor 
out  of  his  revery. 

2.  Introducing  Mr.  Fulton 

ABIT  later  in  the.  evening,  the  tall 
stranger  entered  Morton’s  General 
Store  and  made  a few  purchases.  The 
news  of  the  arrival  of  this  mysterious 
foreigner  had  spread  up  and  down  the 
street,  and  now  a crowd  gathered  to  get 
a good  look  at  him. 

In  paying  for  his  purchases,  he  lin- 
gered quite  a while  at  the  cashier’s  desk. 
Who  wouldn’t  linger  for  a chat  with 
Mary  Morton?  She  was  by  far  the  most 
radiant  creature  and  wholly  desirable  bit 


328 


WEIRD  TALES 


of  femininity  that  the  little  village  of 
Yankton  had  ever  produced. 

A brief  description  of  the  town  will 
not  be  amiss.  Yankton,  Pennsylvania, 
boasts  one  thousand  odd  inhabitants. 
They  are  quite  odd,  and  Yankton  does 
not  boast  them  very  loudly. 

It  is  a typical  old-time  New  England 
village.  This  may  seem  to  be  a strange 
statement  to  make  about  a Pennsylvania 
community,  but  New  England  itself  is 
now  overrun  by  praaically  every  nation- 
ality of  Europe.  The  people  of  old  Eng- 
lish stock  there  have  lost  their  control  of 
everything,  except  some  of  the  financial 
centers  of  State  Street,  and  the  social  cen- 
ters of  Back  Bay.  In  fact,  they  have 
been  forced  to  recognize  the  Irish,  most 
of  whom  came  over  in  the  1840’s  to  build 
the  railroads,  as  allies  of  theirs  against 
the  later  comers,  whom  they  regard  as 
non-American. 

But  years  ago,  in  Revolutionary  times, 
the  mountains  of  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio 
were  settled  by  New  Englanders  of  the 
original  stock.  Here  you  will  find  the 
purest  forms  of  New  England  Colonial 
architecture.  Here  the  Yankee  blood  has 
remained  praaically  uncontaminated, 
right  down  to  the  present  day. 

But  they  had  inbred  and  degenerated, 
for  all  of  that.  Individuals  of  marked 
mentality  had  moved  away.  The  result 
was  that  the  inhabitants  of  Yankton,  al- 
though superficially  prosperous,  well- 
dressed  and  modern,  were  mentally  and 
morally  in  the  same  class  with  the  super- 
stitious illiterate  mountaineers  of  other 
states  and  other  parts  of  Pennsylvania 
itself.  All  that  kept  them  from  hex- 
murders  and  witchcraft-trials  was  a 
wholesome  fear  of  ridicule;  for  they  were 
just  educated  enough  to  know  that  such 
things  are  frowned  upon  in  more  cosmo- 
politan communities.  In  faa,  it  should 
be  remembered  that  the  New  England 
forebears  of  these  Yankton  folk  had  had 


their  own  period  of  hysteria  over  witdi- 
aaft. 

Mary  Morton  represented  the  flower  of 
the  pure  old  English  stock.  She  had  re- 
verted to  type,  after  generations  of  de- 
cline. She  was  the  aspiration  of  all  the 
young  men  of  Yankton,  and  so  she  had 
been  able  to  pick  for  herself  the  catch  of 
the  town,  Herman  Fulton. 

Herman  had  had  his  eye  on  the  main 
chance  all  his  life.  At  an  early  age  he 
had  gone  to  work  in  the  Yankton  Bank, 
scorning  a college  career,  or  even  the 
completion  of  high  school.  There  were 
no  college  men  in  Yankton,  except  the 
two  doaors.  Not  that  Yankton  men  did 
not  ever  go  to  college,  but  merely  that 
those  who  went  to  college  never  returned 
to  Yankton;  they  went  o^to  wider  fields, 
where  they  made  their  long-slumbering 
heredity  tell.  Yankton  could  name  with 
pride  many  of  these  distinguished  sons 
of  hers,  men  of  national  repute,  who  had 
turned  their  backs  on  their  boyhood 
home. 

But  Herman  Fulton  had  been  differ- 
ent. He  had  stuck  to  the  bank,  had  spent 
next  to  nothing,  and  had  invested  and 
reinvested  his  earnings  to  advantage.  At 
the  age  of  thirty-five,  still  a bachelor,  he 
had  worked  up  to  the  position  of  assist- 
ant cashier.  Not  that  diis  indicated  that 
Herman  was  possessed  of  any  particular 
degree  of  intelligence.  In  faa,  it  is 
probable  that  he  was  subnormal  mental- 
ly. Even  morons  are  often  fiendishly 
clever  along  some  one  line,  and  Herman 
possessed  a well-developed  money  sense, 
if  no  other.  True,  he  was  self-educated 
and  was  an  avid  reader  of  books  on  all 
subjeas,  but  it  is  to  be  doubted  if  he 
really  understood  very  much  of  what  he 
read,  although  he  passed  for  quite  a 
learned  man  in  Yangon. 

When  the  cashier  had  conveniently 
died,  soon  after  Herman's  attaining  the 
position  of  assistant,  Herman  had  de- 


ANOTHER  DRACULAr 


329 


manded  his  place — and  had  been  re- 
fused. At  the  next  annual  meeting  he 
had  calmly  ousted  the  surprized  board  of 
direaors,  who  did  not  realize  that  certain 
controlling  blocks  of  stock,  standing 
nominally  in  the  names  of  old  Dr.  Por- 
ter and  others,  were  really  Herman’s; 
had  substituted  a board  of  his  own  hendi- 
men,  and  had  eleaed  himself  not  cashier 
but  president! 

After  that,  whenever  Herman  Fulton 
"requested”  anything  in  Yankton,  the 
request  was  usually  granted,  even  if  the 
granter  couldn’t  quite  figure  out  just 
what  Herman  intended  to  do  if  the  re- 
quest were  refused.  Herman  was  con- 
scienceless and  ruthless.  Thus  he  speed- 
ily became  the  financial  power  of  Yank- 
ton. 

So  all  the  girls,  who  for  years  had 
been  setting  their  caps  for  him,  had  been 
intensely  jealous  when  Mary  Morton’s 
parents  had  announced  her  engagement 
to  Herman. 

And  then  Dr.  Ralph  Crane,  fresh 
from  Harvard  Medical  College,  had  come 
to  town,  just  about  a year  before  this 
story  begins.  He  had  picked  out  Yank- 
ton as  a likely  place  to  build  up  a coun- 
try practise,  and  had  been  welcomed  by 
old  Dr.  Porter,  who  had  more  patients 
than  he  could  handle  at  his  advanced  age. 

Unfortunately,  young  Crane  had  fallen 
in  love  with  the  beautiful  Mary,  and  it 
was  evident  that  she  liked  him  very 
much.  In  fact,  if  he  had  arrived  on  the 
scene  before  her  engagement  to  Herman 
Fulton,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the 
dashing  young  doaor  would  have  speed- 
ily won  her  heart.  But,  in  primitive 
communities  such  as  Yankton,  engage- 
ments are  regarded  as  being  almost  as 
saaed,  as  marriages.  In  faa,  they  are 
usually  lived  up  to  a lot  better.  Engaged 
girls  don’t  even  dance  with,  or  receive 
calls  from,  young  men  other  than  their 
fiances.  So  Ralph  Crane  had  had  to 


content  himself  with  worshipping  from 
a distance,  and  with  such  professional 
contacts  as  occasional  illnesses  in  Mary’s 
family  gave  him.  Mary  herself  was  al- 
ways the  picture  of  health. 

Entering  the  Morton  Emporium  on  the 
evening  in  question.  Dr.  Crane  observed 
with  displeasure  the  quite  evident  regard 
which  the  courtly  European  was  display- 
ing for  Mary,  and  the  flattered  interest 
which  she  returned.  He  would  speak  to 
Herman  Fulton  about  it! 

But,  on  second  thought,  he  decided 
not  to  speak  to  Herman  after  all.  If  this 
old  beau  could  make  a -dent  in  Herman’s 
hold  on  Mary,  so  much  the  better.  It 
was  something  that  he.  Crane,  would 
have  liked  to  do  himself,  if  he  had  not 
been  deterred  both  by  respect  for  die  lo- 
cal conventions  and  by  fear  of  Herman’s 
power. 

At  that,  however,  there  was  something 
about  the  performance  which  jarred  on 
the  young  doaor’s  sensibilities,  in  spite 
of  all  his  pleasurable  anticipations  of  his 
rival’s  discomfiture.  It  may  have  been 
the  May  and  December  aspea  of  the  sit- 
uation. Or  it  may  have  been  something 
else,  some  mere  instinaive  feeling.  Per- 
haps the  uncanny  events,  which  had  ac- 
companied Monsieur  Larousse’s  arrival, 
contributed  to  Dr.  Crane’s  uneasiness. 

Had  Monsieur  Larousse  really  "ar- 
rived”? This  seems  a strange  quesdon, 
in  view  of  the  faa  that  here  he  was.  And 
ya,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  gossip 
developed  the  faa  that  he  had  not  been 
seen  to  alight  from  any  of  the  uains 
which  had  stopped  at  Yankton  that  day, 
nor  had  he  got  off  the  Lancaster  bus, 
nor  had  he  come  in  his  own  auto.  Ya 
here  he  was,  so  he  must  have  arrived — 
somehow. 

'The  tall  old  gentleman  lingered  in  the 
Morton  store  until  closing  time.  Mostly 
he  wandered  up  and  down  the  aisles. 
Occasionally  he  would  make  small  pur- 


330 


WEIRD  TALES 


chases.  Whenever  opportunity  offered, 
he  would  chat  with  Mary.  His  attitude 
toward  her  was  courtly  and  unexception- 
able. 

Morton’s  had  many  customers  that 
evening,  but  Monsieur  Larousse  did  not 
seem  to  notice  that  he  was  the  center  of 
attraaion,  the  cause  of  unwonted  crowds 
in  the  usually  sparsely  patronized  store. 

When  Pop  Morton  finally  put  up  the 
shutters,  no  one  happened  to  notice 
where  the  stranger  went.  He  did  not 
register  at  the  Republican  House,  nor  did 
he  put  in  an  appearance  all  the  next  day. 

Around  noon.  Dr.  Crane  ran  across 
Dan  Callahan  on  the  street.  Dan  was 
in  his  cab,  the  doaor  on  foot. 

’’Hop  in,”  shouted  Dan,  drawing  up 
by  the  curb,  ’’and  I’ll  take  you  wherever 
you’re  going — free.  I’ve  something  to 
tell  you.” 

’’Not  that  Junior  is  worse,  I hope?” 
said  the  young  doaor,  as  he  got  in. 

’’Heavens,  no,"  replied  the  taxi-driver. 
’’Junior  couldn’t  get  worse  with  you  tend- 
ing him.  Doc.  No,  it’s  about  the  old 
bird  whose  coffin  we  moved  yesterday.” 

”Not  ill,  is  he?”  asked  Crane,  profes- 
sionally interested,  and  a bit  hopefully. 

’’Not  as  I know  of,”  replied  Dan,  ’’for 
he  ain’t  been  seen  since  die  stores  closed 
last  night.  No,"  it’s  about  his  coffin. 
'They  buried  it  this  morning,  without  any 
service,  and  in  the  Wilson  lot!” 

"Well?” 

“You  know  old  ’Aunt  Hattie’,  the 
witch  who  lives  in  that  little  cottage  just 
beyond  the  cemetery?  Lives  all  alone 
except  for  one  big  blade  tom-cat?” 

"Yes.” 

“Well,  she’s  a Wilson.  And  it’s  her 
who  owns  the  Wilson  lot.” 

“Hm,”  ruminated  the  young  doaor. 
"Bats,  and  coffins,  and  black  cats,  and 
witches,  and  burial  without  church  rites. 
It  does  sound  a bit  spooky,  doesn’t  it?” 


"It  sure  does.  Doc!”  agreed  Dan,  sol- 
emnly. 

But  neither  of  them  could  advance  any 
theory  as  to  where  Larousse  spent  his 
nights. 

3.  Eavesdropping 

That  evening,  as  soon  as  the  sun  had 
set  and  the  bats  were  out,  out  came 
the  elderly  stranger  as  well.  For  some 
time  he  walked  the  streets,  furnishing 
the  subjea  of  conversation  for  whisper- 
ing groups.  Then,  as  before,  he  entered 
Morton’s  store,  and  resumed  his  atten- 
tions to  Mary. 

His  attitude  was  courteous  and  respea- 
ful.  Not  a word,  not  an  aaion,  nor 
even  a glance,  that  any  one  could  take 
exception  to.  He  evidently  had  traveled 
extensively,  and  he  talked  interestingly 
of  all  the  countries  of  the  world. 

To  Mary  Morton,  cooped  up  all  her 
life  in  this  little  one-horse  Pennsylvania 
mountain  town,  and — since  her  engage- 
ment to  Herman  Fulton — deprived  of  all 
other  male  attention,  this  elderly  stranger 
was  a diversion,  in  faa  almost  a god- 
send. 

Herman  usually  spent  his  evenings  in 
his  office  in  the  bank;  but  tonight,  due  to 
several  anonymous  phone-calls  in  several 
female  voices,  he  abruptly  left  the  bank, 
dragged  his  fiancee  out  from  imder  the 
very  nose  of  the  elderly  stranger,  and 
huffily  took  her  to  the  movies,  thus  de- 
priving her  father  of  his  cashier  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening. 

Peter  Larousse  promptly  faded  from 
the  scene.  His  chauffeur  had  arrived  in 
town  with  an  expensive  foreign  car,  and 
this  evening  drove  him  out  into  the  coun- 
try. 'The  chauffeur  had  registered  at  the 
Republican  House,  and  the  car  was  kept 
in  the  hotel  garage.  But  Larousse  him- 
self did  not  put  up  at  the  Republican 
House.  His  own  lodging-place  still  re- 
mained a secret. 


ANOTHER  DRACULA? 


331 


The  next  morning,  as  Dr.  Cran? 
dropped  into  the  Morton  store  to  make 
some  sort  of  a purchase — a collar,  per- 
haps— ^he  overheard  heated  words  com- 
ing from  Pop  Motton’s  private  office  in 
the  rear.  The  young  doaor  wasn’t  a 
gossip  or  an  eavesdropper,  and  accord- 
ingly would  have  scorned  to  listen  in,  had 
he  not  overheard  the  mention  of  Mary 
Morton’s  name.  His  secret , infatuation 
for  the  beautiful  girl  now  proved  too 
much  for  him,  and  so  he  at  once  devel- 
oped an  unexplainable  interest  in  some 
kitchen  cutlery,  displayed  on  a counter 
along  the  opaque-glass  partition  which 
shielded  the  proprietor’s  sanctum. 

"Am  I,  or  am  I not,  engaged  to  your 
daughter?’’  came  from  the  other  side  of 
the  wall  in  the  unmistakable  tones  of 
Herman  Fulton. 

"Of  course  you  are — of  course  you 
are,”  replied  Pop  Morton  soothingly. 
._!'Well,  then,”  continued  the  young 
banker,  "haven’t  I a right  to  object  to  my 
fianc^  compromising  herself  with  that 
fish-eyed  old  French  lizard?” 

"But  she  ain’t  compromising  herself,” 
objeaed  Pop.  '"That  fish-eyed  old 
French  lizard,  as  you  call  him,  has  been 
perfealy  polite  and  respeaful  to  her. 
Besides,  he  buys  lots  of  things  at  my 
store;  and  lots  of  people  come  in  here 
every  evening  to  take  a look  at  him.  He 
draws  more  crowds  here  than  any  adver- 
tising display  I’ve  put  on  in  years.  And 
if  Mary  draws  him,  what  harm’s  done, 
at  least  as  long  as  he  behaves  himself?” 

"It’s  got  to  stop!  I demand  it!” 

"But  why?  Why  stop  me  making 
money?  Is  that  a sensible  way  to  treat 
your  future  pa-in-law?” 

'”rhe  future  wife  of  Herman  Fulton 
has  got  to  be  discreet.  If  she  can’t  be 
discreet.  I’ll  break  off  the  engagement.” 

"Now,  Herman,”  remonstrated  Mor- 
ton, "I’d  hate  to  think  you  cared  as  little 


for  Mary  as  all  that.  You  wouldn’t  do 
anything  like  that.  I’m  sture.” 

"Well,  perhaps  not,”  admitted  the 
banker,  rather  sheepishly.  Then  taking 
a new  tack,  "But  do  I,  or  do  I not,  hold 
a mortgage  on  yoiu:  store?” 

"Sh!  Sh!  For  heaven’s  sake,  Her- 
man, don’t  be  so  loud  about  it.  I don’t 
want  that  mortgage  broadcast  all  over  the 
county.” 

‘"'CJTiy  not?  It’s  on  record  with  the 
prothonotary  up  at  the  county  seat,  isn’t 
it?” 

’The  storekeeper  ignored  this  question, 
and  countered  with:  "See  here,  Herman, 
you  leave  this  Mooseer  Larousse  alone 
for  a ''few  weeks,  and  I’ll  be  making 

enough  off  of  him  to  pay  up  your  d d 

old  mortgage.” 

"Now,  Pop,  is  that  a nice  way  to  speak 
of  your  mortgage,  when  I was  so  kind  as 
to  help  you  out  and  lend  you  all  that 
money  when  you  had  to  have  it  or  go 
under?  And  it  isn’t  a question  of  paying 
off  the  mortgage  'in  a few  weeks’;  it’s  a 
question  of  paying  off  that  mortgage 
right  now!  It’s  already  overdue,  and  I 
demand  payment.  My  engagement  to 
your  daughter  stands,  but  it’s  the  mort- 
gage against  Monsieur  Larousse.  Maty 
must  stop  aaing  as  your  cashier  until 
that  spooky  old  devil  stops  hanging 
around  your  store.” 

"Why  do  you  call  him  a spooky  old 
devil?”  asked  Pop  Morton  artlessly,  sedc- 
ing  to  divert  Fulton  from  his  line  of  at- 
tack. 

"Because  he  is  one!”  replied  the  latter, 
momentarily  diverted.  "He  comes  here 
with  a coffin,  and  all  kinds  of  strange 
bats  and  things.  Nobody  knows  who  he 
is,  or  how  he  got  here,  or  where  he  came 
from.  He  never  shows  up,  except  at 
night.  He  keeps  luider  cover  in  the  day- 
time, and  nobody  knows  where  or  why.” 

Dr.  Crane,  listening  outside,  chuckled 
softly  to  himself.  "I  know  why,  even  if 


332 


WEIRD  TALES 


I don’t  know  where.  It’s  that  confound- 
ed skin  disease  he  told  me  about.” 

Meanwhile  Herman  Fulton  was  con- 
tinuing, on  the  other  side  of  the  thin 
partition,  "And  he  buried  his  coffin  in 
the  Wilson  lot,  which  belongs  to  that  old 
black-cat  witch.  Aunt  Hattie.  He  looks 
spooky,  too.  He  looks  like — ^why,  do 
you  know  what  he  looks  like.?  It’s  only 
just  occurred  to  me.  I’ve  been  reading 
a book  I got  out  of  the  public  library, 
called  Dracula,  by  a man  named  Bram 
Stoker.  All  about  a he-vampire,  who 
was  dead  and  buried,  and  yet  came  out 
of  his  coffin  every  night,  and  sucked  peo- 
ple’s blood,  until  they  died  and  became 
vampires,  too.  'This  Dracula  could  turn 
himself  into  a bat,  or  a wolf,  or  a shower 
of  moonbeams,  in  order  to  get  at  his  vic- 
tims. I’ll  bet  this  old  bird  is  Count  Drac- 
ula himself,  or  at  least  another  vampire 
of  exaaly  the  same  sort.  He  looks  just 
like  the  way  Dracula  was  desaibed  in 
Aat  story.” 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!”  exclaimed  Pop  Morton, 
widi  forced  levity.  "Well,  that’s  a good 
one.  Ha,  ha,  1^!  A ^^-vampire,  eh? 
Why,  I thought  vampires  were  only  shest 
That’s  the  way  they  always  are  in  the 
movies.  And  they  don’t  bite  folks 
neither.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  A ^e-vampire! 
Well,  that’s  a good  one.” 

"Don’t  laugh.  Pop.  I’m  serious  about 
this.  I really  am.  This  is  quite  a dif- 
ferent kind  of  vampire.  It  would  make 
your  blood  run  cold  to  read  that  story. 
'That  man,  Larousse,  is  a positive  menace 
to  this  commimity!” 

"Now,  Herman,”  remonstrated  Mor- 
ton in  surprize.  "You  don’t  mean  to  tell 
me  that  you  take  any  stock  in  such  a 
codk-and-bull  yarn  as  that?” 

"Yes,  I do.  Pop.  That  story  is  sup- 
posed to  be  based  on  mediaeval  European 
traditions.  These  blood-sucking  vam- 
pires were  well  known  in  the  old  days. 
I’ve  looked  up  about  them  in  the  ency- 


clopedia, too.  Seriously,  I believe  the 
man’s  a menace.  He  ought  to  be  run 
out  of  town.” 

And  then  Pop  Morton  committed  the 
tactical  mistake  of  saying,  "But  what’s  to 
prevent  my  making  a little  money  off 
him,  first?”  thereby  bringing  the  conver- 
sation back  to  the  argument  from  which 
he  had  just  succeeded  in  distraaing  Het- 
man’s attention. 

He  bit  his  lip,  but  it  was  too  late  to 
recall  the  words. 

"What’s  to  prevent?”  snorted  the 
banker.  "I’m  to  prevent.  You  take 
Mary  tight  out  of  your  store  and  keep 
her  out,  or ” 

"But  it’ll  cost  too  much  to  hire  an- 
other girl  to  do  her  work!”  interposed 
Pop  wofully.  "Entirely  apart  from  the 
money  I lose  by  losing  this  he-vampire’s 
trade,  you  want  me  to  lay  out  extra 
money  hiring  a substitute  for  my  own 
daughter,  who  don’t  cost  me  nothing.” 

"Do  you  talk  of  money  at  a time  like 
this,  with  your  own  daughter’s  health, 
happiness,  life,  and  even  soul  at  stake? 
Pop,  I’m  ashamed  of  you!  But  I’ll  tell 
you  what  I’ll  do:  I’ll  pay  the  wages  of  the 
substitute,  and  not  put  it  on  the  mort- 
gage either.  Actually  pay  it  out  of  my 
own  pocket.  And  then  we  needn’t  tell 
Maty  any  of  the  reasons  for  what  we’re 
doing.  No  need  to  hurt  her  feelings  by 
letting  on  to  her  what  it’s  all  about.  We 
can  tell  her  that  I’m  doing  it  as  a special 
present  to  her,  and  because  I objea  to 
the  future  Mrs.  Fulton  occupying  a 
menial  position,  even  in  her  own  father’s 
store.  My  wife  must  be  free  of  all  de- 
grading toil.” 

"But  think  of  all  the  trade  I’ll  be  los- 
ing,” Morton  objeaed  feebly. 

"Trade  be  d d!”  snapped  Herman. 

"Think  of  you  daughter — and  your  mort- 
gage,” he  added. 

The  two  men  emerged,  and  Dr.  Crane 
hurried  away  from  the  cutlery  counter. 


ANOTHER  DRACULA? 


333 


As  he  left,  he  heard  Pop  Morton  whis- 
per, "Do  you  suppose  he  heard  us?” 

"Don’t  care  if  he  did,”  replied  Her- 
man Fulton,  but  not  in  a whisper.  "He’s 
only  a sawbones.” 

That  night  there  was  a new  young  lady 
at  the  cashier’s  window  of  the  Morton 
Emporium.  But  when  Pop  put  up  the 
shutters  and  went  home  at  nine  o’clock, 
he  found  Peter  Larousse  seated  on  the 
front  pia2za  in  earnest  conversation  with 
the  beautiful  Maty. 

4.  Werewolves  and  Such 

So  IT  became  evident  that  merely  re- 
lieving Maty  Morton  of  her  job  as 
cashier  of  her  father’s  store  had  not  been 
enough  to  put  a stop  to  the  objectionable 
attentions  of  the  weird  old  foreigner, 
who,  Herman  Fulton  insisted  from  the 
depths  of  his  reading,  must  be  the  orig- 
inal vampire  Count  Dracula,  or  at  least 
his  double. 

Deprived  of  the  opportunity  of  chat- 
ting with  Mary  at  the  cashier’s  wicket. 
Monsieur  Larousse  called  on  her  at  her 
home. 

Her  father  felt  that,  of  course,  he 
ought  to  report  the  matter  at  once  to  her 
fiance.  But  he  kept  putting  this  off,  due 
partly  to  a general  irresolution  of  charac- 
ter, partly  to  fear  of  facing  Herman  Ful- 
ton, and  partly — ^it  must  be  confessed — 
to  a sort  of  satisfaction  that  he  felt  in  the 
coming-to-naught  of  all  the  trouble  that 
Herman  had  caused  him, 

As  a result,  it  was  several  days  before 
Herman  discovered  how  the  land  lay. 
Mary  could  not  be  blamed,  for  no  one 
had  ever  warned  her  against  the  old 
Frenchman.  So  for  several  evenings  in 
succession,  Peter  Larousse  called  on  her, 
and  was  welcomed.  As  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  spending  her  evenings  at 
the  store,  time  now  hung  heavy  on  her 
hands.  Her  fianc^  was  busy  down  at  the 


bank,  making  money,  and  so  she  wel- 
comed the  visits  of  the  distinguished  for- 
eigner. 

Although  his  personality  was  rather 
chilling  and  revolting,  yet  he  did  bring 
to  her  the  fresh  outlook  of  the  outside 
world.  He  talked  entertainingly  of  the 
far  countries  which  he  had  visited.  All 
peoples  and  all  times  seemed  familiar  to 
him.  And  Mary  rapidly  began  to  realize 
what  a limited,  narrowing  and  cooped-up 
sort  of  a place  Yankton  was,  after  all! 

But  one  night  Herman  called  to  take 
her  to  the  movies,  and  found  Peter  La- 
rousse already  there.  • 

Herman  was  diilled  with  horror  at 
first.  And  then  he  boiled  internally  at 
the  thought  that  all  the  good  money  he 
had  spent  in  hiring  Mary’s  substitute 
down  at  the  store  had  been  utterly  wast- 
ed, for  it  had  given  "old  Dracula”  an 
opportunity  to  see  her  even  more  inti- 
mately at  home.  Herman  would  have 
liked  to  make  a scene  then  and  there.  In 
fact,  he  nearly  did.  But  his  long  bank- 
ing career  had  schooled  him  to  the  real- 
ization that  making  oneself  ridiculous 
has  a bad  effea  on  business.  And  busi- 
ness was  always  uppermost  in  Herman 
Fulton’s  considerations.  So,  althou^ 
with  difficulty,  he  steeled  himself  to  be 
courteous  to  the  older  man,  and  politely 
begged  him  to  excuse  Mary  for  a prear- 
ranged date._ 

'The  stranger,  with  equal  courtesy,  sub- 
mitted. But  his  eyes  sized  up  the  young 
banker  appraisingly. 

The  deferred  "scene”  took  place  in  the 
Morton  parlor  later  that  evening,  on  the 
return  from  the  show.  Herman  stormed, 
and  Mary  wept  and  had  to  be  comforted. 
But  finally,  because  she  really  did  care 
for  her  fiance,  in  spite  of  his  peculiarities 
and  his  domineering  manner,  she  agreed  ' 
that  she  would  always  be  "out”  there- 
after, whenever  Larousse  called. 

Larousse  called  regularly  every  night 


334 


WEIRD  TALES 


for  a week,  and  at  last  gave  it  up.  Like 
the  drunken  man  who  was  thrown  out 
of  a party  three  times  in  succession,  he 
knew  when  he  wasn't  wanted. 

From  then  on,  he  walked  the  streets 
rather  aimlessly  after  nightfall.  Some- 
times he  would  drop  into  a picture  show, 
or  would  sit  in  the  lobby  of  the  Repub- 
lican House,  or  even  would  make  assorted 
purchases  at  the  Morton  Emporium.  But 
by  now  he  had  become  a familiar  figure 
to  die  people  of  Yankton,  and  he  no  long- 
er excited  their  attention.  To  no  one, 
except  Herman  Fulton,  old  Dr.  Porter, 
and  young  Dr.  Crane,  was  he  any  longer 
of  any  moment.  The  interest  of  the  two 
doaors  was  purely  professional,  although 
he  would  not  let  either  of  them  treat  his 
strange  ailment.  Herman  kept  his  weird 
theories  to  himself,  for  fear  of  ridicule, 
but  he  read  everything  that  he  could  find 
on  the  subjea  of  vampires,  even  sending 
to  Philadelphia  for  books,  when  he  had 
exhausted  the  bibliography  of  the  Yank- 
ton Carnegie  Library. 

And  anyhow,  so  far  as  known,  La- 
rousse  hadn't  yet  bitten  any  one  in  Yank- 
ton. But  he  was  never  seen  to  eat  any 
regular  food. 

Even  if  the  mystery  of  the  mysterious 
stranger  hadn’t  grown  stale,  there 
now  were  other  matters  to  distract  the 
attention  of  the  citizens  of  Yankton.  It 
was  an  unusually  dry  summer,  and  the 
drought  afforded  an  absorbing  topic  of 
conversation. 

In  addition  to  the  loss  of  aops  and  the 
threat  against  the  town’s  water-supply, 
there  began  to  be  a large  and  unexplain- 
able loss  of  chickens.  Traps  were  set 
every  evening,  and  were  found  sprung 
every  morning,  and  still  the  toll  of  fowls 
continued.  Several  people  reported  hav- 
ing seen  a lone  wolf  in  the  mountains 
back  of  the  town. 

Peter  Larousse  dropped  gradually  out 


of  sight.  He  seldom  appeared  downtown 
in  the  evening  any  more,  but  no  one  took 
particular  note  of  this  defeaion,  so  in- 
tent had  they  all  become  on  the  lone  wolf, 
and  the  depredation  of  the  chickens, 
which  two  phenomena  were  now  quite 
generally  linked  together  in  people’s 
minds. 

More  people  saw  the  wolf.  Several 
poultry-raisers  sat  up  in  ambush  and  got 
shots  at  him,  but  he  seemed  to  bear  a 
charmed  life,  and  to  be  immune  to  their 
bullets. 

Eventually  a huge  German  police-dog 
was  foimd  dead  in  the  hills;  and  from 
that  time  on,  the  wolf  was  not  seen  again, 
and  no  more  chickens  were  stolen;  but 
no  one  could  persuade  the  people  of 
Yankton  that  these  events  had  anything 
to  do  with  each  other.  They  knew  per- 
fectly well,  these  Pennsylvania  mountain- 
eers, that  the  wolf  had  merely  transferred 
his  predatory  operations  elsewhere. 
Couldn’t  they  tell  a wolf  from  a dog? 

As  for  Herman  Fulton,  he  had  his  own 
theories  on  the  subjea,  but  he  kept  them 
to  himself. 

About  the  time  of  the  end  of  the  wolf 
episode,  Mary  Morton  was  taken  ill,  and 
called  in  Dr.  Oane.  The  young  doaor 
didn’t  mind  this  at  all,  imtil  the  case  be- 
gan to  get  serious.  Then  he  became 
frankly  puzzled  with  the  simation. 

In  spite  of  a good  appetite  and  the  con- 
sumption of  plenty  of  food,  Mary  began 
to  lose  weight  and  grew  pale  and  wan. 
Tonics  were  administered,  but  they 
seemed  to  be  only  temporarily  stimulat- 
ing. Finally  blood-transfusions  were  re- 
sorted to,  and  these  soon  had  to  become 
more  and  more  frequent.  It  was  evident 
that  Mary  was  losing  blood  steadily  and 
rapidly,  and  yet  there  was  no  apparent 
cause  for  this  loss. 

Peter  Larousse  reappeared  in  his  old 
haunts.  His  health  seemed  to  have  been 


ANOTHER  DRACULA? 


335 


greatly  improved  by  the  bracing  air  of 
the  Pennsylvania  mountains. 

5.  Dr.  Crane’s  Adventure 

Finally  the  young  doaor  prescribed 
a change  of  scene  for  his  patient. 
He  recommended  that  she  be  sent  to  the 
seashore,  and  that  specialists  be  called  in. 
But  her  fiance,  although  most  solicitous, 
had  a narrow  provincial  clinging  to  his 
native  town. 

"There  is  no  spot  in  the  world  more 
healthful  than  the  Pennsylvania  moun- 
tains,” he  insisted.  "Now  that  the  wolf- 
scare  is  all  over,  let’s  put  her  in  my  cabin 
in  the  hills  bade  of  the  town.  I’ll  have 
the  place  all  tidied  up,  and  will  hire  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Foss  to  take  care  of  it.  Pay  for 
the  whole  performance  myself,  too.  Mrs. 
Foss  used  to  be  a trained  nurse  before  she 
married  Josh  Foss,  so  we’ll  be  killing  two 
birds  wiA  one  stone.” 

Dr.  Crane  reluaantly  had  to  acquiesce. 
Herman  Fulton  was  not  only  boss  of  the 
town;  he  was  boss  of  Mary  Morton,  too. 

Mary  seemed  to  improve  sli^tly  under 
the  change,  and  Ralph  Crane  soon  found 
that  the  remote  location  of  the  camp  gave 
him  an  opportunity  to  spend  an  undue 
amount  of  time  wi^  his  patient,  without 
attraaing  attention  or  exdting  any  gossip. 

'Then  Mary  began  to  fail  again.  She 
became  paler  and  paler,  and  more  and 
more  bloodless. 

Her  fiance,  in  accordance  with  his  the- 
ories, made  her  a present  of  a beautiful 
chased  gold  crucifix,  inlaid  with  (what 
he  said  were)  diamonds,  which  he 
begged  her  to  wear  all  the  time  in  mem- 
ory of  him.  He  hung  the  cabin  with 
bunches  of  garlic;  but  as  Mary  happened 
peculiarly  to  be  rather  partial  to  their 
acrid  odor,  she  did  not  mind,  ^especially 
as  she  thought  that  he  knew  of  this 
strange  liking  of  hers,  and  was  doing  it 
on  that  accoimt. 


He  puttied  up  all  the  window-cracks 
with  what  appeared  to  be  bread-crumbs, 
and  did  not  mention  the  faa  that  he  had 
procured  this  material  at  the  Catholic 
church  down  the  valley.  Mary  and  he 
were  good  Methodists. 

Dr.  Crane  ascribed  this  puttying  to  the 
old  New  England  superstition  as  to  the 
baneful  effea  of  night  air.  He  remon- 
strated roundly  on  general  sanitary  con- 
siderations, but  finally  gave  in  when  the 
nights  turned  suddenly  colder  with  ap- 
proaching autumn,  especially  as  the  cabin 
leaked  air  like  a sieve,  anyhow. 

Ralph  Crane  spent  long  hours  nearly 
every  gening  with  Mary,  except  on  the 
occasions  when  Herman  Fulton  was  there. 
As  a result,  Ralph  and  Maty  became  very 
good  friends.  For  the  most  part  they 
talked  of  their  pasts,  than  whidi  there  is 
no  better  way  of  getting  well  acquainted. 
'The  girl  recounted  all  the  personal  de- 
tails of  her  rather  uneventful  Yankton 
girlhood.  The  young  doaor  told  of  his 
city  childhood,  his  boyhood  on  a New 
Hampshire  farm,  and  his  struggles  to  put 
himself  through  Phillips  Exeter  Acad- 
emy, Dartmouth  College,  and  Harvard 
Medical  School. 

Herman  Fulton  didn’t  seem  to  mind 
this  intimacy.  In  faa  a sick,  weak,  blood- 
less and  somewhat  petulant  Maty  rather 
bored  him,  in  spite  of  his  regard  and  con- 
cern for  her;  and  so  he  was  glad  to  have 
some  one  else — provided  no  scandal  was 
involved — take  oflF  his  hands  the  task 
of  keeping  her  amused. 

One  evening  when  the  doaor  and  the 
girl  were  sitting  alone  together  in  front 
of  the  cabin,  the  full  moon  and  a soft 
whispering  mountain  breeze  were  most 
suggestive  of  the  appropriateness  of 
ghost  stories;  so  Crane  embarked  on 'an 
apt  tale  of  his  New  Hampshire  boyhood. 

'"rhe  farm  on  which  I worked,”  said 
he,  "was  about  two  miles  from  the  lake 


336 


WEIRD  TALES 


from  which  we  got  our  water  supply. 
There  was  a hot-air  pump  down  by  the 
shore  of  the  lake,  which  pumped  the 
water  up  to  a tank  beside  the  bam.  That 
sort  of  pump  is  a very  simple  affair:  a 
little  fire-box,  holding  only  a shovel- 
ful or  two  of  coal,  and  then  a single 
air-cylinder  and  piston  about  a sfoot 
in  diameter  on  top  of  that,  and  then  on 
top  of  the  cylinder  a heavy  three  foot  fly- 
wheel. This  was  the  engine  layout.  I 
don’t  remember  how  the  pump  itself  was 
hitched  up — all  we  had  to  bother  with 
was  the  engine.  If  that  went,  then  the 
pump  went  too.  You  don’t  see  many  of 
that  kind  of  pump  nowadays.” 

"I  never  heard  of  one,”  the  girl  said. 

Dr.  Crane  continued,  "It  would  run 
all  night  on  one  loading  of  coal;  that  is, 
unless  it  happened  to  stop.  When  it 
stopped,  you  could  tell  up  at  the  farm- 
house, because  the  'thump,  thump,  thump’ 
in  the  pipes  wouldn’t  sound  any  more. 
Then  whichever  of  the  farmhands’  turn 
it  was,  would  have  to  light  up  a lantern, 
trudge  two  miles  through  the  woods 
down  to  the  lake,  climb  up  on  the  big 
flywheel,  hang  on  to  one  side  of  it  to 
give  it  a spin,  and  thus  start  the  pump 
pumping  again.  Well,  this  particular 
summer,  we  were  troubled  with  mountain 
lions.” 

"Real  lions?”  intermpted  Mary. 

”Not  the  kind  you  see  in  circuses,”  ex- 
plained Ralph.  "The  kind  that  we  had 
up  in  New  Hampshire  looked  about  like 
a lioness,  only  somewhat  smaller  and 
slimmer.  Both  sexes  look  alike.  'The 
male  hasn’t  any  mane.  Sometimes  they 
call  this  aeature  a mountain  lion,  or  a 
catamount,  cougar,  panther,  painter, 
puma,  or  what  have  you?  Well,  anyhow, 
two  of  them  came  down  out  of  the  north 
woods  up  by  Mount  Chocorua,  and 
started  stealing  chickens,  much  like  this 
wolf  they  had  around  here  last  month. 


Only  these  beasts  occasionally  took  sheep, 
and  calves,  too.  A boy  friend  of  mine. 
Tolly  Piper,  was  driving  the  cows  home 
from  pasture  one  day,  when  one  of  these 
lions  jumped  out  of  the  bushes,  picked 
up  a calf  right  under  Tolly’s  nose,  and 
jumped  back  into  the  bushes  again  with 
it.” 

"Horrible!”  miumured  the  girl. 

The  young  doaor  warmed  to  his  story, 
and  went  on.  "One  day  one  of  them 
walked  right  into  an  afternoon  tea  of 
siuiuner  folks.  It  calmly  surveyed  the 
scene,  while  all  the  people  sat  froxen  to 
stone.  'Then  it  slipped  quietly  back  into 
the  woods  again.  And  at  night  you  could 
hear  them  calling  to  each  other  from  one 
range  of  hills  to  another.  A most  weird 
sound!” 

"Did  you  ever  see  either  of  them?” 
asked  the  girl. 

"Saw  both  of  them,”  was  the  reply. 
"One  night  aroimd  midnight  I was  lying 
awake  in  my  second-story  room  in  the 
farmhouse,  listening  to  the  howls,  when 
I noticed  that  the  voices  of  the  two  lions 
came  neater  and  nearer  together,  until 
finally  they  met  in  the  woods  just  between 
the  farm  and  the  lake.  Then  the  sounds 
got  louder  and  louder.  We  had  some 
tame  foxes  in  a wire-netting  cage  just 
back  of  the  house,  and  I could  hear  our 
poor  little  pets  whimpering  with  fright. 
'Then  there  came  an  unusually  fierce 
scream  from  one  of  the  lions,  followed  by 
a crash  against  the  wires  of  the  cage. 
Then  another  scream  and  another  crash, 
as  the  other  beast  sprang,  'This  was  re- 
peated several  times,  but  after  a time  the 
two  animals  gave  it  up,  and  came  toward 
the  house.  I could  see  them  distinaly  in 
the  moonlight,  which  was  as  bright  as  it 
is  tonight.  They  would  walk  a few  steps, 
and  then  sit  on  their  haunches,  throw 
back  their  heads,  and  howl.  One  time 
( Continued  on  page  424 ) 

W.T.--3 


Houje  of  the 

6^es 


TH€PA 


Goldetx 


■'There  ■was  something 
bloated,  parboiled  to  a 
dull  red,  sliding  toward 
him.” 


IF  TIM  GALLAGHER  had  not  spent 
twenty-four  of  his  twenty-eight  years 
in  America,  three  thousand  miles 
from  the  land  of  his  birth,  he  would  have 
missed  the  adventure  that  greeted  him 
almost  as  soon  as  he  set  foot  again  in 
County  Cork;  for  the  wisdom  of  his  na- 
tive land  would  have  warned  him  that 
the  odds  were  against  even  his  six  feet 
of  young  strength.  But  American  public 
school  and  college  and  associates  had 
praaically  obliterated  his  atavistic  "super- 
stition,” and  so  it  was  that  he  spent  half 
a night  following  the  dancing  lure  of 
light  that  kept  always  just  out  of  reach — 
careless  alike  of  the  faa  that  it  was  May 
Eve,  and  that  better  men  than  he  had 
lost  in  their  pitiful  conflia  with  the  will- 
o’-the-wisp. 

W.  T.— 4 


In  faa,  Irish  though  he  was,  he  did 
not  realize  that  it  was  the  will-o’-the- 
wisp  that  he  followed;  he  knew  only  that 
here  was  something  puzzling,  intriguing, 
which  challenged  his  imagination  and  de- 
termination; and  so  he  went  after  it, 
striding  on  firm  ground,  crashing  into 
briers,  sloshing  dangerously  through  a 
swamp.  And  always,  definite  yet  elusive, 
barely  an  arm’s  length  away,  yet  as  free 
of  his  grasp  as  the  stars,  the  witch-light 
dulled  his  apprehension,  until,  suddenly 
conscious  of  a barrier  other  than  rocks  or 
trees,  he  tore  his  gaze  from  that  flicker- 
ing invitation  and  found  himself  con- 
fronted with  a building. 

It  was  one  of  those  peasant-cabins 
familiar  to  every  tourist,  but  in  the  dark- 
ness it  seemed  to  have  a significance  out 

337 


338 


WEIRD  TALES 


of  all  proportion  to  its  size — a signif- 
icance enhanced  by  the  mere  faa  of  its 
existence  in  so  desolate  and  lonely  a 
place. 

Tentatively,  Tim  started  around  it, 
ready  to  spring  back  or  forward  at  the 
slightest  warning,  yet  unaware  of  what 
he  feared;  and  moving  in  this  wa^^,  he 
fell  a slight  but  unmistakable  shock  on 
finding  his  path  barred  by  a great,  flow- 
ering shrub,  which  seemed  to  'throw  a 
[leailiar  unreal  glamor  over  everything. 

Tim  had  never  before  seen  red  haw- 
diorn  in  bloom;  he  could  not  really  be 
said  to  see  it  now,  but  in  the  darlcness, 
he  fek  it — all  its  compelling,  superna- 
tural beauty  acting  ailmost  like  a drug  to 
his  tired  body  and  nerves. 

For  a long  minute,  he  stood  sensing  it, 
struggling  to  recall  the  forgotten  lore  of 
his  homeland.  Hawthorn  — it  meant 
something — it  had  some  strange  associa- 
tion, deep-rooted  in  his  race.  . . . 

He  shrugged,  abandoning  the  effort, 
and  was  about  to  knock,  to  ask  his  way 
[lack  to  the  town  he  had  left,  when  a 
slight  rustle  caused  him  to  turn  sharply. 
Luckily,  as  he  did  so,  his  shoulder 
touched  the  cottage  door,  and  it  gave. 
The  next  instant  he  was  inside,  hiSjvback 
against  its.rotting  panels;  the  sweat  pour- 
ing over  his  livid  face  at  the  recolleaion 
of  the  two  oblique  yellow  eyes  that  had 
flared  out  of  the  darkness,  hardly  a yard 
away. 

What  had  he  seen?  What  manner  of 
beast  was  it  that  crept  out  of  the  night, 
invisible  even  in  shadowy  outline,  except 
for  those  terrible  eyes?  Was  it  a beast  at 
all?  Was  it  anything — except  his  imagi- 
nation? 

His  mouth  twisted  in  a bad  attempt  at 
a smile.  Imagination!  Where  would  he 
get  an  imagination  to  conjure  up  even  an 
hallucination  as  infinitely  evil  as  those 
eyes? 


There  was  something  there — outside 
— waiting  for  him.  Or  was  it  waiting? 
Would  it  wait? 

Wait?  Naturally.  What  else  could  it 
do?  He  was  here,  sheltered,  safe.  Here 
he  would  stay,  until  dawn.  For  some 
reason,  he  felt  that  the  tiling,  whatever 
it  was,  would  be  powerless  in  broad  sun- 
light. He  would  wait,  dien.  It  was  ri- 
diculous  to  yield  ',to  the  pridcle  at  his 
spine,  the  weak  chattering  of  his  teeth. 
With  an  almost  heroic  effort,  he  con- 
trolled them  — and  as  if  in  delilierate 
mockery,  a cascade  of  ghastly,  demoniac 
laughter  seemed  to  fall  from  die  rafters, 
just  alxive  his  head. 

At  die  same  second,  direaly  in  front 
of  him,  less  than  ten  feet  away,  the  dread 
golden  ellipses  flared — and  faded. 

At  that,  sheer,  absolute  terror  owned 
him — terror  in  which  was  no  element  of 
common  sense  or  reason.  He  lurdied 
forward,  stublied  his  toe,  and  caught  up 
the  small  stool  in  his  path,  instina  mak- 
ing him  grab  it  automatically,  as  a wea- 
pon. 

His  quick  motion  had  an  unexpeaed 
result;  it  fanned  into  momentary  life  a 
fragment  of  peat,  and  die  glow  gave  him 
a swift  knowledge  of  the  hut’s  interior: 
it  was  aliout  eight  feet  square,  with  a cen- 
tral hearth,  and  one  window.  Tlie  reali- 
zation of  that  window  restored  his  cour- 
age. Through  it,  he  had  seen  those  ter- 
rible eyes — diey  were  not  visible  through 
a wall,  nor  had  their  owner  entered  the 
hut  in  some  uncanny  way;  and  tl»e 
knowledge  served  to  revive  his  reason. 

He  was  moving  slowly  now,  sliding 
along  the  wall.  If  he  could  reach  the 
window,  reconnoiter  without  being  seen 
or  sensed  by  die  thing  outside,  he  might 
be  able  to  settle  the  mystery.  After  all, 
many  animals  had  eyes  luminous  at  night; 
it  might  be  that  it  was  only  his  fatigue 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES 


339 


that  gave  these  such  a sinister  atmos- 
phere. 

A faint  draft  warned  him  that  the  win- 
dow was  less  than  a foot  away;  and  its 
freshness  made  him  abruptly  aware  of 
the  fetid  odor  of  the  cottage.  From  the 
moment  of  his  entry  he  had  been  vaguely 
conscious  of  it,  even  through  the  nerve- 
racking  events  of  the  past  few  minutes; 
but  now  it  nauseated  him,  and  he  closed 
his  eyes,  drawing  deep  breaths  of  the 
night  air. 

Fortunately,  it  refreshed  him,  for  rais- 
ing his  lids,  he  found  himself  staring 
into  those  golden  eyes,  and  knew  that 
they  were  steadily  approaching.  Gather- 
ing himself  together,  his  left  hand  took 
quick  measurement  of  the  window,  while 
his  right  raised  the  stool.  But  he  never 
threw  it,  for  without  soimd  or  warning, 
the  space  between  him  and  those  eyes 
melted;  something  slashed  his  face  from 
the  comer  of  his  brow  to  his  mouth, 
barely  missing  his  eye;  and  he  found  him- 
self hung  half  over  the  sill  grappling 
with  an  imknown  antagonist  which 
seemed  to  fight  him  as  impersonally  and 
effortlessly  as  a spirit. 

But  it  was  not  a spirit;  twice  his  hand 
closed  on  thick,  short  fur,  beneath  which 
he  sensed  delicate  bones.  The  second 
time,  he  wrenched  violently  at  what 
seemed  to  be  the  creature’s  foreleg,  and 
only  the  repeated  slash  of  pain — this  time 
across  his  grasping  hand  — saved  the 
bones  in  his  grip  from  being  snapped. 
In  the  second  his  grasp  relaxed,  his  an- 
tagonist jerked  back,  and  in  that  instant’s 
respite  he  realized  the  terrible  danger  of 
grappling  with  this  unknown  thing,  par- 
ticularly with  his  own  strength  and  tech- 
nique so  seriously  impaired  by  the  wall 
between  them.  Undoubtedly,  the  part  of 
wisdom  was  to  sit,  back  to  the  door,  stool 
in  hand,  keeping  a dark  vigil  until  dawn; 
and  he  had  almost  decided  to  do  this. 


when  the  terrible  golden  eyes  were  again 
direaed  toward  him,  and  he  realized  that 
they  must  be  barely  outside  the  window, 
or  aaually  within  the  room.  There  was 
only  one  thing  to  do.  Raising  the  stool, 
he  beat  straight  at  them,  and  though  the 
blow  was  broken  by  the  wood  splintering 
against  the  window-frame,  he  knew  that 
it  had  to  some  extent  stmck  home,  for  a 
scream  more  terrible  than  any  sound  he 
had  ever  heard  filled  the  night  with  awful 
vibrations.  It  was  neither  hiunan  nor 
^imal;  every  tree  and  stone  in  the  des- 
olate place  seemed  to  e<;ho  it;  the  house 
itself  quivered  with  it. 

Abruptly,  he  felt  that  the  conflia  was 
over,  that  he  was  alone;  yet  he  had  none 
of  the  exhilaration  of  the  viaor.  He  was 
dizzy,  nauseated,  oppressed  by  the  dark- 
ness, the  lack  of  air,  the  stench  in  the 
cottage.  'The  gash  in  his  face  had  begun 
to  throb,  and  putting  up  his  hand,  he  dis- 
covered it  was  deeper  than  he  had  re- 
alized. Somewhere,  there  must  be  water 
in  the  cottage;  gathering  his  spent 
strength,  he  began  a blind  hunt  for  it. 
Twice,  he  bumped  into  the  wall;  once, 
into  a rickety  table.  Except  for  that,  and 
a bundle  that  might  be  rags  serving  for  a 
bed,  the  place  seemed  empty. 

At  last,  he  discovered  a series  of  rough 
board  shelves,  but  his  quick  hope  that 
there  might  be  a water-jug  on  them  was 
vain.  The  lowest  was  crowded  with  bot- 
tles— small,  queerly  shaped  phials,  for 
the  most  part;  toward  the  back,  two  or 
three  of  decanter  size  cheated  him  afresh, 
by  proving  to  be  filled  with  noxious, 
strange  liquids.  The  second  shelf  held 
books,  and  his  hand  on  their  covers  dis- 
turbed thick  dust — or  the  brown,  musty 
powder  into  which  ancient  calf  bindings 
degenerate.  'The  third  held  a few  broken 
pieces  of.  crockery,  and  what  felt  like 
pewter  utensils. 

'The  fourth  seemed  at  first  empty.  On 


340 


WEIRD  TALES 


a level  just  above  his  head,  his  exploring 
hand  ran  half  its  length  without  encoun- 
tering anything.  Then,  quite  without 
warning,  he  touched  the  shelf's  sole  occu- 
pant. It  was  warm,  alive.  He  was  aware 
of  a muted  thrum  and  rustle  just  above 
his  head,  and  jumped  back  at  the  instant 
that  die  cottage  was  filled  again  with 
ghastly,  inhuman  laughter. 

His  heel  caught  in  the  bundled  rags; 
he  stumbled,  fell  backward,  lay  still, 
aware  of  two  things:  the  filthy  odor 
which  permeated  the  place  was  like  a 
drug,  stifling  him;  and  there  was  some- 
thing hovering  just  above  him.  He  could 
not  see  it,  but  he  knew  it  was  there;  he 
almost  fancied  he  could  feel  a faint 
breath — yet  it  was  too  quidc,  too  pulsing 
for  breadiing.  With  a great  effort  he 
raised  his  hand  to  his  face — apparently 
nothing  was  above  him;  yet,  in  that  last 
instant  of  consciousness,  he  knew  that  it 
was  something  living  suspended  in  the 
air,  not  a foot  away. 

WHEN  he  opened  his  eyes,  the  sun 
was  streaming  into  the  hut,  and — 
except  for  the  dull  pain  of  his  face  and 
hand  — the  whole  ghastly  night  might 
have  been  a dream.  There  was  nothing 
whatever  sinister  about  the  little  room;  it 
was  precisely  what  he  had  at  first  drought 
it — a typical  peasant's  home.  It  was  not 
even  as  dirty  as  most  of  them  were.  Then 
he  remembered,  and  sniffed  apprehen- 
sively, and  discovered  a faint,  unmistak- 
able trace  of  the  odor  that  had  praaically 
anesdietized  him  die  night  before. 

What  could  it  have  been.^  He  raised 
himself  half  on  his  elbow  and  stared 
about.  There  was  no  trace  of  food  or 
drink — nothing  that  could  have  so  filled 
the  room  with  disgust.  His  gaze  reached 
the  hearth,  rediscovered  the  dead  peat 
ashes.  Swung  above  them  was  a great  iron 
pot.  It  must  be.  in  that;  the  place  was 


apparently  abandoned,  and  its  former 
owner  might  have  left  food  in  it.  In  that 
case,  the  fire  lit  by  some  chance  wanderer 
the  night  before  might  very  well  have 
liberated  die  fetidness. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  rousing  him- 
self and  investigating,  when  he  heard 
someone  singing.  The  voice  was  a 
woman's,  peculiarly  sweet,  and  with  just 
that  undercurrent  of  wildness  appropri- 
ate to  her  surroundings.  He  lay  back 
again  on  die  bundle  of  rags  which  had 
served  him  for  a bed,  and  listened,  com- 
fortably aware  that  she  was  approaching, 
and  that  many  of  his  problems  would  be 
solved  by  her  presence.  Undoubtedly  she 
would  get  him  water  and  food,  and  once 
he  had  had  them,  and  relaxed  long 
enough  to  regain  some  of  his  lost  nervous 
energy,  he  could  follow  her  directions 
back  to  town. 

She  was  near  enough  now  for  him  to 
hear  the  rustle  of  the  shrubbery  ..which 
she  brushed  in  passing.  Another  minute, 
and  her  song  had  stopped  on  a peculiarly 
haunting  minor  note;  and  glancing  up, 
he  saw  her  in  the  doorway. 

He  was  impressed  at  first  with  her 
slender  straightness;  it  hardly  seemed 
that  her  feet  touched  the  ground,  and  the 
slight  wind  stirring  her  full  skirt  added 
to  the  atmosphere  of  lightness  about  her. 
In  her  hand  she  held  a branch  of  die 
hawthorn.  'Hie  sun  struck  through  its 
translucent  blossoms,  and  turned  her 
tousled  red  hair  to  a living  flame,  giving 
her  delicate  siUiouette  peculiar  life.  He 
watched  her  for  a long  minute,  in  sheer 
pleasure  at  the  dark,  lithe  outline,  with 
its  relief  of  fragile  red  flowers,  and  then 
realized  that  she  was  not  alone.  On  her 
shoulder  perched  a great  black  bird. 

He  said,  "Gime  in,  won’t  you?” 

She  did  not  answer,  and  he  felt  that 
she  was  smiling  with  a sort  of  amused 
contempt;  but  she  did.  as  he  asked,  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES 


341 


he  noticed  as  she  moved  that  her  walk 
justified  his  first  impression  of  her  light- 
ness. She  seemed  almost  to  float  as  she 
aossed  to  him.  There  was  only  one 
blemish  to  her  perfea  grace — ^her  left 
arm  hung  limp  at  her  side,  as  if  a blow 
had  paralyzed  or  injured  it. 

When  she  was  quite  near  him,  she 
turned  a little;  and  now,  for  the  first 
time,  he  saw  her  face. 

Just  why  he  should  have  felt  tliat 
slight,  subconscious  shodc  he  could  not 
have  said.  It  was  undoubtedly  the  per- 
fea face  for  sucli  a figure  — the  face 
whicli..,he  should  have  expeaed.  Long, 
with  slightly  pointed  chin,  it  had  all  the 
fragile  beauty  he  could  have  desired  for 
it.  The  slightly  peaked  brows  were  like 
an  etching  on  the  white  skin,  and  the 
amber  eyes  beneath  them  were  the  na- 
tural accompaniment  for  burnished  red 
hair.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  mar 
the  first  impression  of  perfea  beauty. 
Tlie  girl  had  apparently  been  eating  ber- 
ries, and  a tiny  red  stain  at  the  corner  of 
. her  full  lips  threw  the  mouth  out  of 
symmetry. 

As  she  paused  beside  him,  the  great 
bird  on  her  shoulder  teetered  forward, 
and  seemed  to  peer  into  his  face  with 
sinister  curiosity.  He  saw  her  lips  move, 
and  though  he  heard  nothing,  the  bird 
flapped  its  wings,  and  with  a peculiarly 
ungraceful  motion  rose  from  her  shoul- 
der and  sagged  through  the  air  to  the 
shelf.  He  realized  suddenly  that  this  had 
been  the  thing  he  had  touched  in  the 
daiic,  the  thing  he  had  sensed  hovering 
above  him  as  he  sank  into  his  coma. 

He  said  sharply,  "Do  you  live  here?" 

For  a second,  he  thought  a queer  light 
moved  behind  the  girl’s  eyes,  but  when 
she  answered  him,  her  voice  had  all  the 
sweemess  that  had  filled  her  singing. 

"Yes.  How  did  you  come  here?" 

■ "I  lost  my  way.” 


"How  long  have  you  been  here?” 

"Since  an  hour  or  so  after  dark.” 

He  felt  that  she  was  about  to  say  some- 
thing, then,  but  thou^  her  eyes  raurned 
to  him  three  or  four  times,  and  her  lips 
half  parted,  she  did  not  speak.  Finally, 
he  broke  die  silence. 

"I  am  very  thirsty.  Can  you  get  me 
some  water?” 

Her  brows  drew  together.  "Water?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  I told  you  I am 
thirsty,  and  I haven’t  washed  since  sun- 
down. Besides — my  face ” 

He  moved  slightly,  so  that  his  slashed 
cheek  was  suddenly  out  of  the  shadow, 
and  toward  her;  and  at  sight  of  it,  she 
started  back,  a combination  of  horror  and 
sorrow  contorting  her  face.  A queer 
little  sound  broke  from  her — something 
between  a cry  aitd  a moan;  and  at  the 
same  instant  the  terrible  laughter  which 
had  twice  before  frozen  him,  filled  the 
cottage. 

"Good  God — what  is ” 

"Nothing!”  She  leaned  toward  him, 
panting  a little.  "Only  my  bird.  He  has 
a split  palate — it  is  nothing  to  fear ” 

Her  voice  faded,  and  in  spite  of  her 
words  of  reassurance,  he  was  swept  by 
sudden,  inexplicable  dread.  There  was 
something  too  intent,  almost  fascinated, 
in  her  gaze.  Fixed  on  his  wound,  it 
seemed  to  sear  it  like  a flame. 

He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and 
that  threw  his  face  into  shadow  again, 
and  once  her  gaze  was  broken,  she  drew 
a long,  shuddering  breath,  and  moved 
back,  swaying  as  if  she  had  been  on  the 
point  of  fainting. 

"Water  — you  said  you  wanted 
water ” 

"No  matter!”  He  forced  himself  to 
his  feet.  "I’ll  get  it — there  must  be  a 
spring ” 

But  in  spite  of  her  apparent  faintness, 
she  reached  the  door  before  him. 


342 


WEIRD  TALES 


"No!  You  ■will  not  leave!”  and  as  he 
started  back,  frowning:  "It  would  be 
foolish  for  you  to  go.  You  do  not  know 
where  there  is  a spring.  Besides” — there 
was  something  almost  cunning  in  her 
eyes — "you  are  tired;  you  have  lost  much 
blood ” 

Her  voice  rose  weirdly,  and  she  turned 
and  ran  from  him,  sending  the  word 
echoing  back  to  him  from  the  trees — 
"Blood  . . . blood  . . .” 

He, DETERMINED  to  leave  at  once,  in 
spite  of  his  exhaustion,  and  was 
about  to  step  out  of  doors  when  he  saw 
the  girl’s  hawthorn  bough  across  the 
threshold,  and  stooped  to  put  it  aside.  It 
was  too  lovely  to  tread  on.  The  next  mo- 
ment, he  regretted  his  softness,  for  the 
movement  seemed  to  liberate  a swarm  of 
bees,  which  had  apparently  been  stealing 
honey  from  the  flowers.  'There  were  so 
many  of  them  that  it  would  have  been 
foolhardy  to  force  a way  through  them, 
and  he  drew  back  into  the  shelter  of  the 
hut,  furious  at  the  delay. 

At  any  moment  the  girl  might  come 
back,  and  he  found  himself  dreading  her 
return.  What  was  it  about  the  cottage, 
about  her,  that  fllled  him  with  such  ter- 
ror.? America,  with  its  healthy  matter-of- 
factness,  seemed- of  another  world;  here, 
his  atavism  owned  him,  claimed  him 
through  immemorial  centuries  for  forgot- 
ten beliefs  and  fears.  A week  before,  he 
would  have  scorned  any  hysterical  girl 
for  believing  in  the  fancies  which  held 
him  now.  He  kept  telling  himself  that 
it  was  all  ridiculous — but  the  slash  across 
his  cheek  proved  that,  ridiculous  or  not, 
there  was  real  danger  here.  Instina 
warned  him  that  he  must  get  away  before 
the  owner  returned,  and  he  was  about  to 
chance  the  bees  when  he  remembered  the 
pot  on  the  hob. 

It  would  take  only  a second  to  inves- 


tigate it;  and  he  reali2ed  that  there  was 
something  about  it — something  which  he 
must  know. 

He  crossed  to  the  hearth,  and  holding 
his  breath,  removed  the  hea'vy  lid.  A thin 
bluish  vapor  rose  and  twisted  upward. 
He  peered  into  the  black  interior  but 
could  see  nothing.  At  the  same  instant 
he  heard  a footstep,  and  replacing  the 
cover,  whirled  around. 

The  girl  stood  in  the  doorway,  an 
earthen  ewer  in  her  hand.  Apparently 
she  had  no  suspicion  of  his  prying,  and 
entered  the  place  as  casually  as  though 
there  were  no  need  for  haste  or  fear  or 
distrust;  and  her  first  words  held  none  of 
the  suggestion  that  had  imdertoned  her 
last  ones. 

"If  you’ll  come  into  the  light.  I’ll 
bathe  it ” 

Instead  of  gratitude,  revulsion  filled 
him.  "No — I’ll  do  it.  'Thanks.  Out 
there.  Are  the  bees  gone?”  * 

"Bees?”  He  thought  he  heard  a faint 
note  of  mockery  behind  the  monosyllable, 
but  her  face  was  guileless.  '"There  are 
no  bees  hereabouts.” 

He  was  on  the  point  of  speaking,  but 
thought  better  of  it,  and  seated  himself 
on  the  stone  lintel.  'The  girl  leaned 
against  the  door  jamb,  watching;  and  as 
the  water  cleansed  the  slash,  and  the 
blood  began  to  flow,  he  realized  that  she 
was  quivering,  and  felt  a sudden  over- 
whelming nausea. 

He  had  no  doubt  now  that  she  was 
mad,  and  that  her  insanity  was  liberated 
by  blood — the  sight,  even  the  thought,  of 
it  shaking  her  equilibrium.  He  had  heard 
many  strange  tales  of  maniacs  who 
seemed  normal  until  some  slight  mishap 
overthrew  their  delicate  mental  balance. 

"Go  inside,”  he  said  harshly,  and  when 
she  did  not  move,  he  looked  up.  "Go 
on!” 

She  ran  her  tongue  'over  her  lips.  He 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES 


343 


saw  that  it  was  pointed,  and  too  red.  It 
touched  the  corner  of  her  mouth — the 
little  red  stain.  Her  eyes  glittered. 

He  trembled  with  horrid  realization, 
and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

She  fell  back  before  him — and  was 
suddenly  only  a normal,  beautiful  girl — 
laughing  a little. 

"You  are  nervous.  What  is  the  mat- 
ter.?" 

He  hesitated.  Should  he  confront  her 
with  his  discovery,  make  a bold  front  and 
tell  her  die  truth.? 

"Come  in,”  she  said,  and  there  was 
only  quiet  invitation  in  her  tone.  But  he 
shuddered. 

"No.  I’m  going  on,  now.  Thanks.” 

"Going  on.?”  She  shook  her  head. 
"But  you  can’t.  Tlie  storm ” 

He  had  not  noticed  a storm  before. 
He  could  have  sworn  that  there  had  been 
no  sign  of  one  a moment  before;  yet  now 
the  sky  was  black,  and  die  heavy  menace 
of  thunder  shook  the  place.  A drop 
splashed  at  his  feet. 

"You  see.?  And  there  is  no  regular 
road  from  here.  It  would  be  foolish — 
even  dangerous ” 

She  was  still  standing  just  over  the  sill, 
but  he  shook  his  head. 

"I’ll  watch  it  from  here.  I’m  not 
afraid  of  storms.” 

Her  eyes  were  brooding.  "As  you 
wish.” 

She  turned  from  him,  and  seemed  to 
fade  into  the  storm-darkness  of  the  hut’s 
interior.  He  could  not  see  her,  and  this 
added  to  his  uneasiness,  though  he  heard 
her  moving  about.  He  shifted  his  posi- 
tion, so  that  he  could  watch  the  place 
where  she  must  be;  but  to  know  that  she 
was  there,  and  yet  discover  no  trace  of 
her,  was  worse  than  not  to  know  her 
whereabouts. 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  thought,  a quick 
flame  rose  on  the  hearth.  He  had  heard 


no  matcli  struck,  and  the  effect  was  that 
of  created,  spontaneous  light;  but  he  was 
grateful  for  it,  whatever  its  source.  By 
it  he  could  see  mudi  of  the  room — and 
though  he  could  not  discover  his  "host- 
ess,” tficrc  was  a human  shadow,  unrrKs- 
talcably  indicating  her  presence. 

Suddenly,  he  knew  that  it  was  strange 
tliat  he  could  not  see  the  girl.  Someone 
was  stirring  the  pot.  He  could  hear  the 
sound  of  a spoon  going  round  and  round 
in  it;  he  could  see  it  sway  and  swing  to 
the  rhythm. 

Yet — //yerc  was  no  httman  thing  beside 
thatHhearth. 

The  brew  began  to  bubble.  He  could 
hear  it — and  hear  also  a soft,  persistent 
muttering.  No  syllable  could  he  distin- 
guish; yet  suddenly,  clear  as  the  light- 
ning around  him,  flashed  the  key  to  that 
night’s  mystery. 

He  had  been  lured  by  some  super- 
human force  to  tliis  place;  he  was  held 
here  by  the  same  force.  What  it  was,  no 
man  could  say — but  it  ruled  more  human 
beings  tlian  any  other  intangible  thing. 
He  was  in  tlic  spell  of  witclicraft.  The 
girl  was  a witch.  Tlie  bird  was  no  bird 
— it  was  a demon,  and  die  laughter  Shat 
had  frozen  him  was  demon-laughter. 
God  knew  what  was  in  the  terrible 
pot— 

What  would  be  in  it  by  morning? 

In  swift  dread  he  flung  from  the  door- 
way; and  as  if  to  mock  his  futility,  a 
sword  of  fire  descended  from  the  sky, 
split  a great  tree,  crashed  it  across  his 
path.  'Tlie  shoclt  threw  him  back  against 
the  hut,  but  he  was  unconscious  of  the 
pain  of  the  impaa.  He  knew  only  that  he 
must  escape — now — at  once. 

Answering  his  resolution,  the  mutter- 
ing inside  became  frenzied.  The  great 
red  hawthorn  swayed,  bent  to  the  earth. 
Was  it  only  the  wind  that  moved  it,  and 
tossed  its  branches  into  a bristling  bar- 


344 


WEIRD  TALES 


rier?  Hawthorn — he  remembered  now — 
it  was  the  witches’  tree,  and  sacred  to  the 
Sidhe.  No  Irishman  would  harm  so  much 
as  a leaf  of  it.  When  the  girl  had  broken 
a bough,  he  should  have  realized  that 
she  was  not  all  human. 

Inside  the  cottage  was  a hush  more 
dreadful  than  sound. 

He  moved  very  slightly,  stared  in.  The 
girl  stood  by  the  table.  She  was  lighting 
three  candles.  He  noticed  that  they  were 
black,  and  the  forgotten  phrase,  "corpse 
candle,”  stirred  his  memory,  made  him 
shiver.  Yet  by  their  light  she  seemed 
both  human  and  fragile.  His  courage  re- 
turned. He  strode  into  the  place,  deter- 
mined to  make  an  end  of  what  all  his 
training  had  taught  him  was  ridiculous. 

She  turned  slowly.  Back  to  the  light, 
she  was  again  a silhouette.  In  the  storm- 
darkened  room  he  saw  her  eyes — golden 
ellipses. 

It  had  been  she — she,  herself!  Not 
some  creature  out  of  hell,  to  do  her  bid- 
ding— but  herself!  That  limp  arm — it 
was  limp  from  the  blow  of  the  stool.  Yet 
the  thing  he  had  grasped  had  been  fitrry 
— it  had  been  an  animal 

Out  of  mediaeval  legends,  out  of  mod- 
em horror-tales,  whirled  the  lore  of  the 
werewolf.  He  remembered  a dozen  such 
stories,  which  he  had  scorned. 

The  little  red  stain  at  the  comer  of  her 
mouth.  The  panting,  avid  concentration 
on  the  slash  across  his  face. 

She  moved  slowly  toward  him,  but  he 
felt  himself  powerless  to  stir.  Without 
taking  her  eyes  from  him,  she  reached 
forward,  toudied  the  kettle.  It  began  to 
swing  rhythmically.  In  the  shadows  over- 
head, the  demon-bird  gibbered. 

The  pot  tipped — more,  more.  Some  of 
its  contents  slopped  over.  A drop  or  two 
spattered  on  the  peat;  the  fire  flared 
greenly.  In  that  ghastly  light  he  saw  the 
widening  pool  on  the  floor.  It  seemed  to 


reach  toward  him.  'There  was  something 
bloated,  parboiled  to  a dull  red,  sliding 
toward  him — a human  hand,  borne  on 
the  slow  slime. 

He  started  back.  Almost  without  voli- 
tion, his  fingers  fled  from  his  brow  to  his 
breast,  from  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

For  a moment,  he  thought  that  light- 
ning had  struck  the  hut.  It  quivered  as 
if  it  had  been  touched  by  a mighty 
finger. 

The  witch  seemed  turned  to  stone — 
absolutely  immobile,  only  her  golden 
eyes  proved  that  she  was  still  alive. 

Tim  turned  and  fled  blindly,  out  of 
the  hut,  into  the  storm.  How  long 
he  ran,  he  did  not  know.  He  looked  bade 
only  once  — and  whether  the  pursuing 
golden  eyes  were  real  or  imaginary  he 
could  not  have  told;  but  he  did  not  trust 
to  their  being  imaginary. 

He  was  half  fainting  when,  through 
the  breaking  storm,  he  finally  saw  the 
comfortable  outlines  of  a village.  As  he 
stumbled  into  its  street,  a dozen  simple 
folk  hurried  to  help  him.  'They  were 
curious,  over-solicitous — but  he  kept  his 
own  cotmsel. 

Finally  they  began  to  oflFer  him  in- 
formation. They  told  him  that  his  wounds 
showed  that  he  had  met  the  fabulous 
great  Wolf  of  the  North.  No  aeature 
had  ever  seen  it  and  lived  to  tell  of  it. 
Hundreds  of  sheep  had  been  slaughtered. 
Twice,  children  had  disappeared.  And 

recently,  a man 

He  shuddered,  in  grim  recolleaion. 
But  he  did  not  reveal  what  he  had 
seen.  It  was  true  that  these  countrymen 
of  his  might  not  scoflF  at  the  story;  the 
Old  World  is  too  wise  to  rejea  matters 
which  outstrip  ordinary  human  ken.  But 
Tim  had  spent  most  of  his  life  in  Amer- 
ica— and  it  had  set  the  seal  of  incredulity 
on  his  Irish  lips. 


OxiarcfiaiAS  cf 
the  0\iA\fas  I 


IT  O,  I really  mean  it,  Jim!”  Jack 
Hoxton  sat  up  in  the  long  cane 
^ chair  on  the  Country  Club 
veranda,  the  better  to  emphasize  his  ear- 
nestness. "I  haven’t  lost  my  money,  or  been 
rejeaed  by  my  best  girl;  indeed  there’s 
no  best,  or  worst,  girl  to  be  considered 
in  my  case;  and  the  plain  faa  is  I’m  sick 
of  civilization — fed  up.  I’m  sailing  for 
the  Hawaiian  Islands  on  the  next  Dollar 
Line  boat!" 

Jim  Worthington  stirred  sufl&ciently  in 
his  long  chair  to  regard  the  flushed  face 
of  his  young  friend  quizzically.  "Who 
has  been  introducing  you  to  the  semi- 
centennial works  of  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son? Don’t  you  know  that  the  Hawaiian 
Islands  are  now  at  least  as  civilized  as 
Iowa?  You’re  a quarter  of  a century  too 
late  to  take  refuge  from  civilization  in 
Hawaii.  Better  sail  farther  and  fare 
worse!” 


"Oh,  I know  that  Honolulu  and  Hilo, 
and  places  like  that,  are  as  civilized  as 
Chicago  or  Atlantic  City;  but  there  must 
be  places  on  the  islands  where  a fellow 
can  buy  a few  acres,  run  up  a shack,  and 
lead  the  simple  life,  alone  with  the  si- 
lence, the  scenery,  the  simshine,  and  the 
tropical  fruits  and  flowers.” 

"Well,  I wish  you  the  best  of  ludc,  if 
you  really  mean  it;  but,  just  for  the  sake 
of  having  a sporting  interest  in  your  ven- 
ture, I’ll  bet  you  an  even  thousand  that 
you’ll  be  sicker  of  silence  and  scenery 
within  one  year  than  you  are  now  of  civ- 
ilization after — how  old  are  you.  Jack? 
— twenty-seven  years  of  it.” 

"I’ll  just  take  that  bet.  Your  thou- 
sand will  probably  come  in  mighty  handy 
to  pay  for  some  pet  improvement  on  my 
Hawaiian  place,  a year  from  now.” 

"Better  catch  your  place  before  you 
start  to  ’civilize’  it;  but  the  bet’s  on. 

345 


346 


WEIRD  TALES 


Now,  is  it  agreed  that  you  are  to  write  to 
me  regularly  and  keep  me  informed  as 
to  how  near  I am  getting  to  winning, 
or  losing,  that  thousand?” 

#«***#* 

“XT  T ELL,  Jim,  old  stay-at-home,  this 
VV  is  my  first  solemn  wr-itton  warn- 
ing from  Aloha  Land  that  you  are  surely 
going  to  lose  tliat  tliousand!  You  should 
have  felt  a premonitory  pang  in  tlie  re- 
gion of  the  pocketbook  about  two  weeks 
ago,  when  I found  my  place!  It's  only 
about  a dozen  miles  from  Honolulu — 
you’ll  hoot  at  that! — but  it  might  be  a 
hundred  for  all  one  sees  or  knows  of  tlie 
city  from  here.  The  great  Koolau  Range 
runs  behind  the  city,  and  cuts  it  off  from 
the  windward  side  of  the  island  of  Oahu 
widi  a three  thousand  foot  wall  of  rock. 
'Wall'  is  the  right  word,  too;  it  rises  as 
nearly  perpendicular  as  any  formation 
can  be  that  has  been  exposed  to  erosion 
for  a thousand  years  or  so.  It’-s  all  solid 
lava;  probably  thrust  up  by  some  gigantic 
volcanic  aaion  long  ago.  Its  sides  are 
furrowed  with  gullies,  and  buttressed 
with  shoulders  built  up  of  the  eroded  ma- 
terial; and  that  makes  it  look  climable 
— and  it  is,  for  perhaps  one-third  of  the 
way  up.  One  might  even  scramble  up 
another  third,  by  picking  a particularly 
likely  spot;  but  thp  final  third  would  defy 
a chamois,  or  a Swiss  mountaineer  unless 
he  cut  his  own  steps  in  tlie  solid  rock 
ahead  of  himself.  There  are  dark  patch- 
es, just  above  the  line  of  possible  climb- 
ability,  that  look  as  if  they  might  be  the 
mouths  of  caves,  caused  by  deeper  erosion 
in  softer  strata;  but  no  one  will  ever 
know  whether  they  are  caves  unless  he 
flies  in  an  airplane  close  enough  to  look 
down  and  into  them;  and  no  level-headed 
aviator  is  likely  to  try  that,  with  a variable 
trade  wind  pouring  itself  against  the  base 
of  the  wall,  and  zooming  up  straight  to 
the  Pearly  Gates! 


"Why  so  mudi  about  my  Wall? — I 
call  the  mighty  Koolau  Range  'my  wall,’ 
because  it  is  both  my  barrier  against  civ- 
ilization, and  the  background  for  all  my 
'silence  and  scenery.’  My  place  is  about 
a mile  and  a half  from  the  base  of  the 
Wall.  It’s  on  a hill  about  five  hundred 
feet  high;  in  faa  it  IS  the  hill.  I’ve 
bought  the  whole  thing,  with  a fence 
around  it,  running  down  to  a mountain 
stream  at  the  base. 

"I’m  building  my  house  right  on  the 
crest  of  die  hill,  with  a big  veranda — 
they  call  ’em  'lanai’  out  here — facing  the 
Wall.  I’ve  already  roughed  out  a trail 
down  the  hillside  through  the  wild 
guavas  to  the  stream,  where  there’s  a fine 
swimming-hole  fifty  or  sixty  feet  long,  a 
dozen  wide,  and  four  or  five  deep.  The 
whole  hillside  is  covered  with  wild 
guava  bushes  at  present,  but  I’ll  have 
most  of  them  grubbed  out  by  the  time 
I’ve  won  your  thousand;  and  with  that 
I’ll  buy  papaias,  banana  and  coconut 
palms,  mangoes,  and  the  rest;  so  that  in 
a couple  of  years  more  I’ll  be  independ- 
ent of  civilization  entirely,  except  to  buy 
an  occasional  shirt  or  pair  of  shorts, 
which  is  all  I wear  out  here.” 

»**••** 

“yvE  been  grubbing  guavas  all  day  in 
the  hot  sun;  but  it  must  be  a month 
since  last  I wrote  you  a warning  that  your 
thousand  is  already  as  good  as  deposited 
to  my  account  with  the  First  National 
Bank  of  Bishop;  so  I’ll  see  if  a change  of 
employment  really  is  as  good  as  a rest. 
It’s  amazing  what  a few  weeks  of  steady 
work  will  do  with  a place  like  this.  My 
house  is  finished.  It’s  mostly  studio  liv- 
ing-room, witli  a little  kitchen,  bedroom 
and  batli.  I’ve  cleared  off  the  whole  of 
the  top  of  my  hill  and  sown  it  to  grass, 
with  a few  flowering  shrubs  to  set  off  the 
house  and  break  the  fence  corners.  Now 
I’m  clearing  a three-foot  trail  through 


GUARDIANS  OF  THE  GUAVAS 


347 


the  wild  guavas  down  the  face  of  my  hill 
toward  the  Wall. 

"You  should  see  it — the  Wall,  I 
mean!  It’s  never  twice  the  same,  what 
with  the  drifting  clouds  and  shifting 
shadows.  There  are  always  half  a dozen 
rainbows  arched  over  its  buttresses  or 
woven  through  the  clouds  around  the 
peaks.  It’s  a tremendous  thing  to  have 
right  in  one’s  own  back  yard!  I stop 
grubbing  guavas,  half  a hundred  times  a 
day,  to  turn  toward  it  and  drink  it  all  in. 
Reminds  me  of  that  old  psalm:  'I  will  lift 
up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  whence 
cometh  my  strength.’ 

"Something  seems  to  flow  down  from 
those  jagged  peaks,  sure  enough.  Maybe 
it’s  streams  of  prana — vital  energy — and 
the  menehunes  manufacture  it  in  those 
caves  I told  you  about  in  my  first  letter. 
Menehunes,  by  the  way,  are  Hawaiian 
fairies;  or  perhaps  it  would  be  more  ac- 
curate to  call  them  gnomes.  All  the  old 
Hawaiians  believe  in  them.  Say  they’ve 
been  seen,  many  a time.  Describe  them 
as  being  a foot  or  two  tall,  with  long 
beards,  all  dressed  in  the  old  Hawaiian 
style. 

"There  was  a bit  in  one  of  the  Hono- 
lulu papers  the  other  day,  about  the  chil- 
dren at  one  of  the  public  schools  seeing 
a real  live  menehune  during  the  noon  re- 
cess. 'They  all  said  he  was  about  a foot 
high,  with  a long  gray  beard,  and  that 
he  went  by,  grumbling  to  himself,  and 
eating  peanuts  out  of  a paper  bag.  That 
paper  bag  sort  of  spoils  the  picmre, 
doesn’t  it?  Sounds  too  civilized  for  a 
menehune.  But,  anyway,  all  the  children 
— and  there  was  about  a dozen  of  them, 
of  all  races — swore  that  they  really  saw 
him.  An  hour  or  so  after  the  paper  was 
out,  all  the  old  Hawaiians  were  down 
there  in  the  school  grounds,  helping  the 
children  to  hunt  for  the  menehune! 

"Well,  I’m  afraid  I’ve  befen  too  thor- 


oughly civilized  to  taJke  much  stock  in 
menehunes;  but  the  scenery  md  the  si- 
lence are  sure  going  great.  I’ll  be  a new 
man  in  less  than  a year’s  time;  but  you 
can  count  on  my  being  enough  of  my  old 
self  to  claim  that  thousand  promptly 
when  it’s  due!’’ 

* # # # ■ # * « 

*‘'\T ou  are  going  to  win  your  thousand, 
X after  all,  Jim;  and  if  it  were  ten, 
you’d  win  it  just  the  same.  I am  writing 
this  from  a private  hospital  for  'mental 
cases,’  here  in  Honolulu;  but  I’m  not 
mad,  old  man,  not  that;  and  just  as  soon 
as  the  doaor  thinks  that  my  nerves  are 
calm  enough,  I’ll  be  boarding  the  first 
boat  for  the  mainland.  I suppose  I 
should  wait  and  tell  you  all  about  it  then; 
but  I’ve  another  week  or  two  to  put  in 
here  before  they’ll  let  me  leave,  and  it 
will  pass  the  "time,  and  be  a sort  of  a re- 
lief, to  tell  you  in  this  way,  writing  a bit 
at  a time  and  then  resting. 

"I  scarcely  know  how  to  begin.  The 
whole  thing  must  sound  so  incredible  to 
one  who  hasn’t  actually  gone  through  it. 
I’m  sure  I wouldn’t  have  believed  it  my- 
self, a month  ago;  and  when  I tried  to  ex- 
plain to  the  doaor  here  how  my  nerves 
got  in  such  a condition,  he  merely  gave 
me  a soothing  murmur,  and  something  to 
put  me  to  sleep!  But  it’s  true,  I tell  you, 
old  man,/  every  word  of  it!  Well,  I’d 
better  just  go  back  to  the  beginning  and 
let  the  tale  tell  itself: 

"It  began  one  night  about  three  weeks 
ago,  when  I was  sitting  on  my  lanai,  fac- 
ing the  huge  dark  bulk  of  the  Wall  a 
mile  and  a half  away,  and  smoking  my 
pipe  peacefully.  I would  sit  there  al- 
most every  night,  admiring  the  moonlit 
view  of  range  and  valley;  but  that  night 
there  was  no  moon,  only  a powdering  of 
star-dust  across  the  sky  making  the  scene 
faintly  visible.  -The  old  Wall  loomed 
up  black  as  a thunder  cloud;  and,  as  I 


348 


WEIRD  TALES 


kept  mjr  eyes  turned  toward  it,  idly,  I 
fancied  I saw  blue-green  lights  glowing 
here  and  there,  about  a third  of  the  way 
from  the  crest,  I thought  of  those  caves 
I told  you  about,  and  wondered  whether 
anyone  could  jwssibly  be  living  in  them. 
Then  I recalled  how  utterly  inaccessible 
they  appeared  in  full  daylight,  and  dis- 
missed die  notion  from  my  mind.  The 
blue-green  lights  persisted,  however,  and 
the  longer  I watched  them,  the  more 
clearly  they  seemed  to  demark  the  en- 
trances to  the  caves,  as  I had  mentally 
placed  diem  from  many  observations. 
The  idea  came  to  me,  as  I puffed  my  pipe, 
that  maybe  they  really  were  inhabited  by 
menehunes,  making  their  old  magic  over 
there  where  man  couldn’t  get  near  diem. 
'Then  I began  to  wonder  again  whether 
a man  couldn't  manage  to  scramble  up 
the  wooded  scarp  to  one  of  the  larger 
openings,  which  I had  particularly  noted 
b^ause  it  was  the  only  one  that  seemed 
to  present  climbable  possibilities.  Just 
then  the  full  moon  came  out,  flooding 
valley  and  Wall  with  light  no  less  power- 
ful than  that  during  a half-eclipse  of  the 
sun,  and  curiously  like  that  in  quality. 
So  came  my  crazy  notion  to  hike  over  to 
the  Wall  in  the  moonlight,  and  tackle  the 
clinff)  to  the  cave. 

'"The  blue-green  light  had  been  blotted 
out  by  the  moon,'  but  it  was  there  a min- 
ute before,  and  that  seemed  to  say  that 
whoever,  or  whatever,  inhabited  the  cave 
would  surely  be  at  home.  Like  a fool, 
I didn’t  even  stop  to  get  my  flashlight, 
though  I should  have  remembered  that 
there  are  always  heavy  clouds  oyer  and 
around  die  Koolau  Range;  and  I might 
have  anticipated  that  the  moonlight 
would  fail  me  before  I could  complete 
that  three-mile  hike,  with  the  climb  in 
the  middle  of  it. 

'"The  moon  shone  steadily  while  I 
aossed  the  wide  valley,  following  the 


cow  trails  through  the  wild  guava,  and 
coming  to  the  open  grass  land,  sloping 
up  to  the  Wall,  where  the  going  was 
even  easier.  It  couldn’t  have  taken  me 
much  more  dian  half  an  hour  from  the 
time  the  notion  seized  me  till  I was  be- 
ginning my  scramble  up  the  steep  face 
of  the  scarp.  I was  soon  sorry  that  I 
hadn’t  changed  to  breeches  and  boots,  in- 
stead of  starting  out  in  the  shirt  and 
shorts  I’d  been  wearing  all  day  to  work 
on  my  trail;  those  lava  needles  and  guava 
roots  were  surely  hard  on  die  naked 
calves  and  thighs.  I cut  myself  pretty 
badly,  once  or  twice,  and  must  have  lost 
quite  a lot  of  blood  without  realizing  it. 
However,  I wasn’t  going  to  be  turned 
back  by  a little  thing  like  that;  so  up  I 
went,  pulling  myself  up  two-thirds  of  my 
own  height,  here  and  there,  by  holds  on 
guava  roots,  and  having  to  work  a way 
around  many  a place  where  the  rock  face 
was  sheer  perpendicular,  with  no  bolds 
for  hands  or  feet. 

"It  was  much  more  of  a climb  than  I 
had  anticipated,  but  I couldn’t  quit  when 
I must  be  only  a few  himdred  feet  at 
most  from  my  goal.  I looked  back  for  a 
moment,  with  one  foot  on  a lava  needle 
and  one  hand  on  a guava  root,  and  I 
was  amazed  to  see  how  high  I had  come. 
The  Wall,  and  the  steep  slopes,  fell  away 
into  the  moonlit  valley  beneath  me  with 
what  looked  like  an  unbroken  drop  of 
a third  of  a mile.  Over  across  die  val- 
ley, and  far  beneath  the  spot  where  I 
clung,  I could  see  the  lights  of  my  own 
home  on  the  little  hill.  I was  feeling 
fairly  well  done  in,  what  with  the  hard 
day’s  work  and  the  steep  climb  to  which 
my  muscles  were  not  yet  accustomed,  and 
then  the  loss  of  blood  may  have  weak- 
ened me  somewhat.  How  I wished  I 
were  back  in  my  comfortable  chair,  under 
those  li^ts  on  the  lanai!  I wished  it 
more  than  ever,  a moment  later;  really. 


GUARDIANS  OF  THE  GUAVAS 


349 


. wished  it,  as  a drowning  man  must  wish 
for  air;  for,  just  then,  the  moon  went  out. 
It  went  out  just  as  if  a giant  hand  had 
readied  up  and  turned  off  the  switch,  but, 
when  I strained  my  eyes  up  into  the  dark, 
I could  see  a very  faint  luminosity  still 
there,  behind  a bank  of  black  cloud  which 
seemed  to  reach  from  the  Wall  to  the  sea. 
I remembered  that  cloud  too  late.  Al- 
most every  night,  I had  seen  it  drift  in 
from  the  ocean  till  it  blanketed  the  val- 
ley from  midnight  till  dawn.  It  must 
have  been  just  about  midnight  at  that 
moment;  and  there  was  I,  in  almost  black 
dadcness,  hanging  to  a guava  root  above 
a drop  of  a third  of  a mile! 

"I  think  my  nerve  began  to  cradc  at 
that  moment;  but  the  one  thing  chat  I 
couldn’t  possibly  do  was  to  stay  where  I 
was  until  morning.  Already,  I felt  my 
damp  hand  slipping  on  the  smooth  guava 
root.  I must  move,  up  or  down,  and  I 
already  knew  only  too  well  the  impossible 
danger  in  the  darkness  of  the  way  over 
which  I had  come  in  the  bright  moon- 
light. It’s  always  easier  to  climb  up  than 
down,  anyway,  feeling  for  one’s  holds 
with  the  naked  hand  rather  than  with  the 
shod  foot. 

'T  don’t  know  how  long  I climbed 
through  the  terrible  blackness,  or  how 
far.  It  seemed  an  age,  and  a mile  or 
more,  but  it  was  probably  less  than  an 
hour,  and  I doubt  whether  I had  gained 
much  more  than  fifty  feet  on  the  perpen- 
dicular, imder  the  almost  impossible  con- 
ditions of  the  climb.  I was  beginning  to 
aack  with  fatigue,  too.  Each  upward 
inch  seemed  to  call  for  the  last  possible 
ounce  of  vital  energy,  and  still  there  was 
always  another  ounce  for  the  next  inch. 
It  couldn’t  last,  though,  and  I caught  my- 
self deliberately  contemplating  the  possi- 
bility of  letting  go  and  dropping  awiay 
from,  all  this  unendurable  labor  into  the 
peace  of  the  valley. 


"I  couldn’t  do  it.  We  may  tliink  such 
thoughts,  but  our  bodies  won’t  let  us  sur- 
render to  them  while  tliere  is  a spark  of 
vitality  left.  'Tire  end  came  soon  enough 
anyway.  I had  tested  the  guava  root 
with  almost  the  whole  weight  of  my 
body,  while  my  left  foot  rested  firmly 
enough  on  another;  but,  as  I swung  free 
on  it,  there  was  a tearing  sound  that  sent 
a clammy  claw  clutcliing  down  on  my 
heart  muscles.  They  tell  you  tltat  men 
falling  from  great  heights  relive  their 
lives  in  a flash,  like  drowning  men.  It 
may  be  so  with  some;  but  my  mind  was 
a blank,  an  acliing  void,  as  .,my  body 
arched  bade  and  shot  into  the  blackness, 
rbelieve  I gave  one  shrill  scream,  but  I’m 
not  sure  of  that.  ’Tlien — and  I've  no  idea 
how  long  it  was,  since  a second  can  con- 
tain eternity  under  such  conditions— I 
crashed,  and  tlie  world  went  away  from 
all  my  senses. 

RADUALLY  I became  conscious^of  a 
VX  kind  of  blue-green  luminosity  sur- 
rounding me.  I remember '•wondering 
whedier  I had  fallen  into  the  sea,  and  my 
body  was  lying  in  some  deep,  cool,  coral 
cave.  Absurd,  of  course;  the  sea  was 
miles  away.  'The  moon  must  have  come 
out  again.  I looked  up,  and  saw  above 
a roof  of  rough  rock.  I realized  that  I 
was  lying  across  a sloping  shoulder  of 
the  same  substance,  my  legs  straddling 
it,  my  arms  hanging  down  on  either  side 
of  its  curved  surface,  while  the  not  too 
rounded  peak  of  that  bit  into  my  back- 
bone. Next  I realized  that  I was  stark 
naked;  my  shirt  and  shorts  must  have 
been  ripped  away  in  the  fall  ...  I re- 
membered the  fall.  So  I was  still  alive, 
and  this  must  be  some  rocky  cleft  which 
had  caught  and  rolled  me  back  under  its 
overhanging  roof. 

“I  was  alive!  I started  to  lift  my  arms, 
intending  to  move  to  a more  comfortable 


350 


WEIRD  TALES 


position,  and  it  was  then  that  real  fear 
caught  at  my  throat  and  heart,  for  I was 
chained,  chained  to  the  rock  at  neck, 
wrist,  thigh  and  ankle,  with  thin  sharp 
chains,  strong  as  steel,  that  bit  into  my 
flesh  at  the  least  movement.  Only  the 
neck  chain,  being  just  above  the  collar- 
bones, allowed  me  to  lift  my  head  a lit- 
tle and  peer  about  me  into  the  weird 
blue-green  luminosity,  seeking  a cause 
for  my  condition,  yet  fearing  to  find  it, 

"I  saw  that  this  was  no  mere  cleft  in 
the  rock,  but  a long  wide  cavern  with  a 
low  roof.  Direaly  before  the  rock  to 
which  I was  chained,  there  was  a sort  of 
rock  throne,  tiny,  but  large  enough  for 
the  grotesque  figure  which  occupied  it. 
He  was,  perhaps,  two  feet  high.  A lei 
of  brightly  colored  flowers  hung  around 
his  scrawny  throat  and  was  lost  beneath 
his  long  gray  beard.  He  wore  a colorful 
waist-cloth,  nothing  more.  His  right 
hand  held  a spear  about  the  size  of  a 
clothyard  arrow. 

"Surrounding  him,  in  a half  moon, 
but  at  a respeaful  distance  behind,  there 
was  a countless  aowd  of  similar  figures; 
some  bearded  and  gray,  some  smooth- 
faced, lithe  and  young;  all  dressed  in  the 
same  manner  as  their  king — for  such  I 
took  the  seated  figure  to  be — and  all 
armed  with  tiny  weapons. 

"Could  this  be  a primitive  race  of 
Hawaiian  pigmies,  still  surviving  un- 
known to  modern  man,  hidden  away  in 
these  almost  inaccessible  caves?  Or — 
the  truth  flashed  across  my  mind,  to  be 
dismissed  as  surest  folly — could  it  be 
true,  after  all,  about  the  menehunes,  the 
fairy  people,  and  had  I fallen  into  their 
power?  But  surely  fairy  people  would 
be  gentle  and  kindly!  They  would  not 
crucify  a stranger  in  chains  upon  their 
rocks,  and  stare  at  him  with  hard,  cold, 
unwinking  brown  eyes!  Yet  perhaps 
they  hated  the  white  man  and  his  crush- 


ing civilization.  Did  I not  hate  it,  too? 
I must  tell  them  that,  explain  that  I had 
fled  from  it  to  their  own  land;  and  then 
their  faces  would  glow  with  warm  friend- 
liness, and  they  would  hasten  to  release 
the  chains. 

"Before  I could  speak,  there  came  a 
voice  so  high  and  thin  that  I seemed  to 
be  hearing  it  inside  my  own  head  rather 
than  through  my  ears;  yet  I knew  that  it 
came  from  the  seated  figure,  and  I mar- 
veled that  its  English  was  as  perfect  as 
my  own  at  its  best. 

" 'Stranger,  you  venture  to  question  our 
hospitality?’ 

"A  guess;  a logical  deduaion;  or,  had 
he  read  my  thought? 

"Promptly  came  the  reply:  'Your 
thought  speaks  to  me  as  mine  to  you; 
and  now  I will  put  to  you  another  ques- 
tion, although  without  exportation  that 
you  will  answer  it  honestly:  'What  are  the 
limitations  of  hospitality?  Shall  a host 
suffer  his  guest  to  destroy  his  property 
and  even  the  persons  of  those  placed  in 
his  charge,  yet  withhold  his  hand  because 
of  the  claims  of  hospitality?’ 

"What  was  the  meaning  of  this  mad 
rigmarole? — I was  not  his  guest,  nor  he 
my  host;  but,  even  if  we  stood  in  that  re- 
lation, certainly  I had  destroyed  none  of 
his  property,  nor  injured  the  persons  of 
any  of  his  people  . . . Yet  might  I,  per- 
haps, have  done  so  in  a mad  delirium, 
following  my  fall?  Was  that  why  I 
came  back  to  consciousness  to  find  myself 
in  chains? 

"Again  he  read  my  thought.  'You 
have  done  no  harm,  except  to  yourself, 
since  you  came  to  this  place.  You  have 
my  young  men  to  thank  that  the  harm 
was  no  greater.  They  caught  you  as  you 
fell,  and  brought  you  here  to  me  with 
nothing  but  a few  scratches  and  bruises.’ 

"I  started  to  stammer  my  thanks,  for- 
getting my  chains  for  the  moment;  but  I 


GUARDIANS  OF  THE  GUAVAS 


351 


was  interrupted  coldly:  'The  words  were 
not  well  supplied.  You  owe  us  no 
thanks  for  your  broken  fall,  because  we 
drew  you  here  and  gave  you  the  oppor- 
tunity to  fall.  You  believe  it  to  have 
been  your  own  idea,  born  of  moonlight 
and  curiosity;  but  it  came  to  you  across 
the  valley  from  this  cave,  carried  on  die 
blue-green  radiance  whidi  first  attraacd 
your  attention.  We  summoned  you  here 
to  our  court  because  a judgment  has  been 
passed  upon  you,  and  it  is  necessary  to 
its  right  execution  that  you  shall  know 
what  it  is,  and  whence  it  came,  and  why.’ 

"I  forgot  my  chains,  and  diey  bit  sav- 
agely at  my  flesh  as  I attempted  "to  rise 
in  my  indignation.  'What  kind  of  court 
is  diis,  that  passes  judgment  in  the  ab- 
sence of  the  defendant,  without  hearing 
his  plea  or  admitting  evidence.?’ 

" 'It  is  a court  in  whicli  no  mental  eva- 
sions are  at  all  possible,’  the  voice  replied, 
more  mildly  dian  before,  diough  perhaps 
it  only  seemed  so  in  contrast  to  my  own 
hotness.  'Your  crimes  were  committed 
before  our  very  eyes.  Day  after  day, 
hundreds  of  us  have  seen  and  by  thought 
power  have  tried  to  dieck  your  mad  de- 
struaiveness;  but  it  seemed  that  you  re- 
sponded to  our  impulses  only  by  swing- 
ing your  blade  faster  and  harder!’ 

"What,  in  God’s  name,  could  this  lu- 
natic be  talking,  or  rather  thinking  about! 
He  answered  me  in  two  words:  'The 
guavas!’  and  I laughed  aloud.  It  was  a 
mad  thing  to  do,  for  the  little  old  man 
seemed  serious  enough;  but  the  idea  of 
being  charged  with  the  murder  of  wild 
guava  bushes! 

"My  ill-judged  mirth  quite  altered  the 
quality  of  the  voice  that  continued  to  ring 
in  my  head.  No  longer  had  it  even  tlie 
slightest  suggestion  of  a thin  silver  flute, 
as  before,  but  rather  that  of  an  angry 
bumblebee. 

" 'Your  laughter  is  evidence  of  the  in- 


credible obtuseness  of  your  blundering, 
destruaive,  murdering  breed.  In  your 
blind  arrogance,  you  have  at  last  succeed- 
ed in  persuading  yourselves  that  you  may 
destroy  what  and  where  you  will,  so  that 
it  serves  your  comfort,  your  pleasure,  or 
your  greed!’ 

" 'But  I own  the  place  on  which  I have 
been  clearing  away  the  guavas!’  I burst 
in  indignantly. 

" 'You  own  it.?’  The  voice  came  high 
and  incredulous.  'By  what  superior  right 
do  you  claim  personal  ownership  of  any 
part  of  die  King’s  domain,  granted  in 
common  to  His  children  in  return  for 
their  loving  labor  u^xin  it.?’ 

" 'What  king  are  you  talking  about?’ 
I demanded  petulantly.  'I  understand 
diat  Hawaii  is  a part  of  the  Republic  of 
the  United  States.  No  king  has  any 
rights  here!’ 

" 'Him  whom  we  call  the  King  has  His 
rights  everywhere  on  land  and  sea  and  in 
the  air.  He  is  the  King  of  the  World 
. . . but  enough  of  that;  your  droughts  no 
less  than  your  aaions  proclaim  that  you 
know  Him  not.  What  of  this  absurd 
claim  to  ownership  which  you  advance 
in  defense  of  your  murderous  invasions 
upon  our  sacred  cliarges,  the  guavas.?  If 
any  truly  own  diat  land,  must  it  not  be 
the  elemental  spirits  diat  co-operated  to 
create  die  soil,  the  earthworms  that  pre- 
pared it  for  plant  food,  the  guavas  them- 
selves, that  laboriously^juilded  it  into  the 
tissues  of  their  living  bodies — why  have 
they  not  better  title  to  the  land  than  you? 
They  have  been  there  for  half  a century, 
and  you  for  little  more  than  one  moon!’ 

" 'But  I bouglit  and  paid  for  the  place!’ 
I protested  widi  half-incredulous  resent- 
ment. 

" 'From  what  Great  Chief  did  you  buy 
it.?  With  what  aa  of  splendid  service 
did  you  pay  for  it.?’ 

"My  temper  was  tiring  of  this  inaed- 


352 


WEIRD  TALES 


ible  conversation.  'I  bought  it  from  the 
legal  owner,  and  paid  for  it  in  hard,  cold 
American  dollars,  I answered  shortly, 
realizing,  as  I spoke,  that  my  adjeaives 
had  not  been  well  chosen. 

"Sure  enough,  he  repeated  them: 
'Hard,  cold;  but  the  hard  may  be  softened 
and  the  cold  warmed  by  the  White 
Flame,  whose  ministers  and  servants  are 
we.’ 

"Fortunately  I had  already  learned  that 
the  andent  Hawaiians — those  of  them 
who  were  deemed  worthy  of  initiation 
into  their  Mysteries — worship  the  White 
Flame  of  the  eternal  life  force;  or  I might 
have  taken  that  last  statement  as  a threat 
of  ordeal  by  fire.  Perhaps  it  would  have 
been  more  pleasant,  after  all,  than  what 
aaually  came. 

" 'Pain,  and  Fear  of  pain,’  said  the 
voice.  "Thus  does  the  White  Flame 
burn  the  dross  out  of  the  brains  of  be- 
ings like  yourself,  corrupted  by  the  false 
sense  of  the  self  separated  from  the  One 
Self.  We  may  not  kill’ — I drew  a breath 
of  relief  at  that  statement — 'we  may  not 
ourselves  execute  the  judgment  of  the 
guavas  upon  your  person,  but,  fortunate- 
ly for  the  Occasion,  we  have  humbler 
ministers  who  are  not  so  bound.’  He 
pronounced  a name  which  I could  not 
spell  if  I could  remember  it;  but  my  re- 
newed apprehension  prevented  me  even 
from  paying  attention  to  it.  What  ter- 
ror would  be  loosed  upon  me  now? 

“Tn  the  utter  silence  of  the  cavern, 
A there  came  to  my  strained  sense  of 
hearing  a sound  as  of  the  scratching  of 
innumerable  tiny  claws  upon  the  rock. 
Crabs?  Spiders?  What — an  army  of 
them?  I felt  a scratching  at  my  left 
ankle,  a procession  of  tiny  claws  rhythmi- 
cally climbing  to  the  bone. 

"Pressing  my  throat  to  the  utmost 
against  its  chain,  I saw  that  which  had 
never  before  existed  even  in  my  imagi- 


nation. It  was  almost  a foot  in  length, 
jetty  black,  glistening  black,  as  though 
carved  out  of  polished  hard  rubber,  yet 
every  inch,  every  atom  of  its  contours 
was  tremendously,  horribly  alive.  The 
sense  of  the  vitality  packed  into  that  small 
compass  was  shocking.  I saw  it  more 
clearly  as  it  drew  its  dreadful  length 
across  my  kneecap.  It  had  a head,  but 
no  face.  Its  body  was  simply  a proces- 
sion of  tiny  claws  mounted  in  black  knobs 
which  moved  with  the  regularity  of  some 
mechanical  thing.  Up  my  thigh,  and  to 
my  chest  just  below  my  Aroat,  it  came, 
and  there  it  paused. 

" 'We  note,  with  surprize,  that  you  are 
not  already  acquainted  with  our  little 
friend,’  said  the  voice  with  what  seemed 
to  me  to  be  dreadful  irony.  'Were  you 
an  Hawaiian,  with  some  knowledge  of 
the  land  you  presume  to  claim,  you  would 
have  tom  those  chains  deeply  into  your 
own  flesh  at  the  sight  of  him,  before  you 
could  recall  that  you  were  chained — and 
you  are  chained,  you  know.’ 

" 'What  is  it?’  I croaked. 

'"The  response  was  disconcertingly 
prompt:  'It  is  the  one  being  in  Ais 
land  of  love — excluding  those  like  your- 
self who  are  here  by  fraud  or  by  force — 
which  rules  and  conquers  all — even  Man 
— by  Fear.  It  is  the  Great  Centipede.’ 

"A  centipede! — but  those  were  tiny 
pallid  things  never  more  than  an  inch 
or  so  in  length.  This  giant,  waving  his 
blind  tentacles  almost  at  my  throat,  and 
opening  and  closing  his  mighty  tail 
shears  with  clearly  audible  sound,  was  no 
tme  centipede,  but  rather  a ghastly  night- 
mare of  one,  seen  through  a blackened 
and  disordered  brain,  magnified  a mil- 
lionfold! 

" 'It  is  not  a vision,’  said  the  voice, 
with  gentle  insistence;  'it  is  an  actual  be- 
ing, as  you  shall  soon  have  ample  cause 
to  know.’ 


W.  T.— 4 


GUARDIANS  OF  THE  GUAVAS 


353 


"So  my  fate  was  to  be — stinging  to 
death  by  this  hateful  and  malodorous  in* 
sect!  I felt  a cold  wind  blow  between 
the  epidermis  and  the  dermis  all  over  my 
body,  and  I fancied  I could  hear  the  hair 
at  the  base  of  my  head  crackle  as  it  rose 
on  end! 

"As  though  obeying  some  unspoken 
command,  the  nightmare  insect  renewed 
its  rhythmical  march,  aaoss  my  throat, 
over  my  chii;,  and  paused  again  only 
when  its  blindly  waving  tentacles  seemed 
to  command  a view  of  my  face. 

" 'Look  closely;  look  well,  O king  of 
the  centipedes!’  said  the  voice;  'for  this 
one  lies  under  the  curse  of  the  centipedes. 
Let  it  follow  him,  let  it  pursue  him,  till 
he  be  frenzied  widi  fear:  this  for  the 
harm  he  has  wrought;  let  it  follow,  let 
it  pursue  till  he  lift  the  curse  of  his  pres- 
ence from  our  land,  and  so — ^and  only 
so — lift  the  curse  from  himself!  'This 
for  the  harm  that  must  not  be  wrought 
by  him!’ 

"As  the  voice  ceased,  the  mighty  in- 
sea deliberately  turned  about.  For  a 
second  I saw  the  glistening  plier-jaws 
with  whidi  its  tail  was  armed,  waving 
direateningly  beneath  my  very  nose;  then 
it  resumed  its  rhythmicd  march  over  my 
chin,  coming  again  to  my  throat,  where 
it  paused,  apparently  with  its  head  about, 
over  one  carotid  artery  and  its  terrible  tail 
over  the  other.  Now,  if  the  insea  were 
indeed  as  deadly  as  the  voice  had  sug- 
gested it  to  be,  and  if  it  were  to  be  the 
instrument  of  my  destruaion,  it  was  in 
position  to  spread  its  venom  swiftly 
throughout  the  blood  stream. 

"The  pause  lengthened  out  intermi- 
nably, while  the  cavern  was  caught  in 
breathless  silence.  Not  alone  my  nerves 
were  at  unbearable  tension,  but  every  ten- 
don was  tightly  stretched,  every  muscle 
rock-hard,  tensed  to  receive,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, to  endure  I knew  not  what  fiendish 
W.T.— 5 


shodt  of  awful  agony.  This  waiting, 
surely,  was  worse  than  the  event  could 
possibly  be!  Why  did  not  the  accursed 
insea  do  its  deadly  worir? — or  was  it, 
perhaps,  awaiting  the  final  command 
from  the  king  of  the  menehunes.^ 

"That  command  came,  like  the  crack 
of  a tiny  pistol  shot  in  the  stillness.  It 
was,  I think,  the  same  word  with  which 
the  awful  insea  had  been  summoned; 
but,  once  again,  my  nervous  tension  was 
too  great  for  me  to  pay  attention  to  any- 
thing but  that.  Instinctively,  as  the  com- 
mand came,  I drew  still  tighter  the  al- 
ready terrible  tension  of  nerve  and  ten- 
don and  muscle.-  Something  seemed  to 
snap.  There  was  a flashing  blaze  of 
blue-white  brilliance;  then  bladmess,  in- 
stantaneous and  absolute, 

SEEMED  to  drift  upward  to  the  sur- 
A face  of  the  sea  of  consciousness 
through  miles  of  blue-green  water;  but 
always  with  the  same  horrible  sensation 
of  something  dreadful  and  unclean  cling- 
ing about  my  throat.  The  light  grew 
clearer,  yellower.  I became  conscious  of 
my  limbs  pressing  into  the  woven  cane  of 
—the  chair  on  my  own  lanai.  I was 
there;  and  dawn  was  just  breaking  over 
the  Needles  in  the  east — but  these  facts 
were  verbalized  later.  For  the  time  I 
was  frightfully  conscious  only  of  one  sen- 
sation— ^there  was  something,  clammy, 
and  close-clinging,  like  a necklace  of  tiny 
tiger  claws,  about  my  throat! 

"With  a shrill  saeam,  I leapt  to  my 
fea.  Perhaps  the  saeam,  the  vibration 
in  my  throat,  was  what  saved  me,  for  I 
have  learned  since  that  these  deadly  in- 
sects are  apt  to  clamp  down  instinaively 
upon  feeling  a sudden  loss  of  support. 
'There  was  a scratching  thud  on  the  ce- 
ment floor  of  the  lanai;  and  there  at  my 
fea,  eight  or  ten  inches  of  liquid  legs 
churned  and  thrashed  in  blind  semicir- 


354 


WEIRD  TALES 


cles.  Then  it  straightened  out,  and  flowed 
— toward  me! — for  all  the  world  like  a 
thick  streak  of  black  oil  flowing  down  a 
steeply  sloping  floor. 

"My  first  instina  was  to  leap  upon  it 
with  my  shod  feet,  and  it  was  then  that 
I realized  that  my  feet  were  not  shod; 
that  my  body  was  as  naked  as  it  had  been 
in  the  cavern.  You  will  say — as  the  doc- 
tor said — that  it  was  all  a dream,  brought 
on  by  the  actual  contaa  of  the  real  centi- 
pede’s claws;  but  how  will  you  account 
for  this  fact:  that  I was  stark  naked;  my 
clothes  were  gone,  and  I have  never 
foimd  them  to  this  day?  Realizing  my 
defenseless  condition,  I made  no  further 
move  toward  the  terror,  you  may  well 
believe.  Instead,  I dashed  for  the  door 
faster  than  I have  ever  run  before;  yet, 
fast  though  I ran,  the  cursed  creature  was 
at  my  heels  as  I slammed  the  d(X)r  be- 
tween myself  and  it,  and  sank,  with  deep 
sobbing  breaths,  into  an  easy-chair. 

"God,  what  a ghastly  experience! 
Dream,  nightmare,  or  not  — and  I did 
not  stop  to  analyze  then — at  least  there 
was  the  faa  of  that  giant  centipede  on 
the  doorstep  outside.  If  this  lovely  coun- 
try was  infested  with  such  terrors,  would 
it  not  prove  more  of  a purgatory  than  a 
paradise?  I seemed  to  hear  the  baffled 
horror  scratching,  scratching  with  its 
tiny  terrible  claws  at  my  door — and  there 
was  a scratching,  louder  and  louder  as  I 
listened  intently;  but  it  was  not  at /the 
door — it  was,  it  was  on  the  back  of  the 
chair  in  which  I lay  exhausted! 

"I  leapt  to  my  feet  again,  and  in  the 
clear  light  of  dawn,  saw  another  — or 
could  it  possibly  be  the  sartie? — ^giant 
centipede  just  flowing,  over  the  head-rest, 
where  my  head  had  rested  a half-second 
ago!  I sped  to  my  bedroom.  I slammed 
the  door.  I stuffed  ties  and  handkerchiefs 
into  the  crack  beneath  it,  and  into  every 
opening  through  which  it  seemed  that 


even  an  ant  could  make  its  way.  I threw 
back  the  bedclothes,  and  — yes,  I had 
sensed  that  it  would  be  inevitable — but 
not  one,  two  of  the  giant  centipedes  lay 
coiled  together  just  under  the  front  edge 
of  the  pillow! 

"At  the  sight,  suprizingly  enough,  I 
lost  my  fear  for  the  moment,  and  grew 
cold  with  rage.  I seized  the  first  weapon 
that  came  to  hand — it  happened  to  be  a 
shoe — and  brought  it  down  with  terrific 
force  upon  both  of  them.  It  seemed  im- 
possible to  kill  them.  I seemed  to  pound 
and  pound  at  them  for  hours.  Even  after 
they  were  ground  into  the  sheet,  ruining 
it  forever,  still  flickers  and  tremors  of 
horrible  vitality  shook  the  fragments  as 
though  they  would  again  imite  and  attack 
me!  After  that,  I stripped  the  bed,  turned 
the  mattress,  and  lay  down  under  the 
single  upper  sheet  after  shaking  it  till  I 
almost  tore  the  hem.  I lay  there,  but  not 
to  sleep.  No  sooner  would  I close  my 
eyes,  than  I would  see  armies  of  giant 
centipedes  flowing  toward  me  through 
the  darkness,  and  I would  start  up  with 
a half -suppressed  scream. 

"Fortunately  there  was  but  an  hour  or 
so  of  that.  My  Japanese  servant  came  at 
seven.  Had  he  been  late  that  morning, 
he  might  have  found  a madman  for  a 
master!  As  it  was,  I was  dangerously  irri- 
table. I cursed  him  for  a sloven,  in  per- 
mitting these  poisonous  pests  to  get  foot- 
hold in  my  house.  In  vain  he  protested 
that  he  had  seen  none  of  the  great  centi- 
pedes; that  they  were,  indeed,  exceedingly 
rare,  and  that  one  might  live  a lifetime 
in  the  islands  and  never  see  one.  Had  I 
not  seen  four — ^no,  f^ve,  counting  the  one 
in  the  cavern! — during  that  very  night  of 
horror?  I seized  the  sheet  and  found  the 
dreadful  remains  of  my  battle  and  shook 
it  in  his  face. 

" 'See!  See  for  yourself!’  I screamed, 
rather  than  spoke. 


GUARDIANS  OF  THE  GUAVAS 


355 


"He  examined  the  remains  carefully, 
and  shook  his  head,  ''fihat  danger’,’  he 
said,  'most  danger’  — bite,  swell  up, 
mebbe  die,  dunno.’ 

"But  the  sole  effect  of  the  ocular  dem- 
onstration was  that  I lost  my  Japanese 
servant.  He  slipped  away  shortly  before 
noon,  and  I never  saw  him  again. 

"Well,  I dare  not,  for  my  ovra  sake, 
retrace  the  details  of  the  next  three  days. 
They  were  one  continuous  nightmare, 
with  the  added  horror  of  knowing  clear- 
ly that  one  was  wide  awake.  Whenever 
I turned,  wherever  I turned,  my  eyes 
would  fall  upon  one  of  these  poisonous 
pests.  I went  about  armed  with  a tightly 
rolled  magazine,  and  got  so  that  I would 
strike  out  as  I turned  without  waiting  to 
verify  the  presence  of  the  pest.  That  was 
how  all  my  crockery  got  broken.  When 
my  neighbor  called — as  he  did  near  to 
the  end  of  the  third  day — it  was  that  fact 
that  made  him  so  sure  that  I must  have 
been  drinking  the  native  'oke’  to  the  verge 
of  delirium  tremens.  I told  him  the 
whole  tale  as  calmly  as  possible;  but  that 
only  served  to  increase  his  conviaion.  He 
suggested  that  I had  better  let  him  take 
me  to  town  in  his  car — ^said  he  knew  a 
doaor,  knew  the  very  place  for  me.  I 
consented,  not  because  I needed  a doaor, 
but  just  to  get  away. 

"I  might  have  known  that  I couldn’t 
get  away  so  easily  as  that.  *1116  curse  of 
the  centipedes  was  clearly  in  my  mind. 
Not  till  I left — not  till  I leave — ^these 
islands  shall  I be  free  from  it.  There  was 
one  waiting  for  me  on  the  pillow  of  the 
hospital  bed.  It  slipped  away,  like  a 
streak  of  black  oil,  as  I struck  at  it,  and 
vanished  throu^  some  aack  in  the  base 
boarding.  It  was  gone  when  the  doaor 
and  the  nurse  turned  at  my  scream.  I 


showed  them  where  it  had  been,  and 
where  I thought  it  had  gone.  They  were 
interested,  and  sympathetic  — too  much 
so.  I could  see  that  they  were  infeaed  by 
the  belief  of  my  neighbor,  the  one  who 
had  brought  me  to  the  hospital.  'The  doc- 
tor says  I shall  be  all  right  in  a few  days, 
or  a week  or  two  at  most;  but  I know 
better.  *11x6  faa  that  these  omnipresent 
centipedes  never  seem  to  bite  has  brou^t 
a certain  dull  apathy  into  my  feeling 
about  them;  and  yet  I have  a certain  inner 
sense  that  warns  me  to  hold  to  my  resolve 
to  leave  the  islands  as  soon  as  I can,  or  a 
secondary  stage  of  the  curse  may  man- 
ifest! 

"I  have  sold  my  place  at  a great  saai- 
ffce.  In  faa,  it  brought  me  just  a little 
over  the  thousand  I shall  pay  you  when  I 
see  you  in  a couple  of  weeks’  time." 

Dear  Mr.  Worthington:  The  enclosed 
letter,  or  manuscript,  was  found 
under  the  pillow  of  the  bed  occupied  by 
your  friend,  Mr.  John  Hoxton,  during 
his  stay  here  at  the  hospital.  As  you 
already  know  from  our  cables,  he  was 
found  dead  by  the  night  nurse,  and  when 
the  body  was  lifted  from  the  bed,  a giant 
centipede  was  crushed  around  the  back 
of  his  neck.  'The  virus  appears  to  have 
entered  at  the  carotids,  and,  in  the  en- 
feebled state  of  the  patient,  death  must 
have  followed  very  quickly.  It  is  indeed 
strange  that  his  amazing  illusion  should 
have  been  brought  to  a conclusion  by  a 
real  insea  of  the  type  he  feared;  and  it 
is  the  more  to  be  regretted,  because  Dr. 
Benson  was  very  hopeful  of  a complae 
cure.  Just  the  day  before,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  convincing  Mr.  Hoxton  that  he 
must  remain  and  fight  and  defeat  this 
fear  here  in  the  islands,  or  it  would  leave 
a permanent  psychopathic  complex. 


ON  A dismal  rainy  afternoon  in 
August  a tall,  very  thin  gentle- 
man tapped  timidly  on  the 
frosted  glass  window  of  the  curator’s 
office  in  a certain  New  England  museum. 
He  wore  a dark  blue  Qiinchilla  over- 
coat, olive-green  Homburg  hat  with  high 
tapering  crown,  yellow  gloves,  and  spats. 
A blue  silk  muffler  with  white  dots  en- 
circled his  neck  and  entirely  concealed 
the  lower  portion  of  his  face  and  vir- 
tually all  of  his  nose.  Only  a small  ex- 
panse of  pink  and  very  wrinkled  flesh 
was  visible  above  the  muffler  and  below 
his  forehead,  but  as  this  exposed  portion 
of  his  physiognomy  contained  his  eyes  it 
was  as  arresting  as  it  was  meager.  So 
arresting  indeed  was  it  that  it  command- 
ed instant  respect,  and  the  attendants, 
who  were  granted  liberal  weekly  emolu- 
ments for  merely  putting  yards  of  red 
tape  between  the  main  entrance  and  the 
narrow  corridor  that  led  to  the  curator’s 
office,  waived  all  of  their  habitual  and 
356 


asinine  inquiries  and  conduaed  the  muf- 
fled gentleman  straight  to  what  a Vic- 
torian novelist  would  have  called  the  sa- 
cred precincts. 

Having  tapped,  the  gentleman  waited. 
He  waited  patiently,  but  something  in 
his  manner  suggested  that  he  was  ex- 
tremely nervous  and  perturbed  and  de- 
cidely  on  edge  to  talk  to  the  curator. 
And  yet  when  the  door  of  the  office  at 
last  swung  open,  and  the  curator  peered 
out  fastidiously  from  behind  gold- 
rimmed  speaacles,  he  merely  coughed 
and  extended  a visiting-card. 

The  card  was  conservatively  fashion- 
able in  size  and  exquisitely  engraved,  and 
as  soon  as  the  curator  perused  it  his 
countenance  underwent  an  extraordinary 
alteration.  He  was  ordinarily  a supreme- 
ly reticent  individual  with  long,  pale 
face  and  lugubrious,  condescending  eyes, 
but  he  suddenly  became  preposterously 
friendly  and  gteeted  his  visitor  with  an 
eflfusiveness  that  was  almost  hysterical 


A VISITOR  FROM  EGYPT 


357 


He  seized  his  visitor’s ' somewhat  flabby 
gloved  hand  and  gave  it  a Babbittesque 
squeeze.  He  nodded  and  bowed  and 
smirked  and  seemed  almost  beside  him- 
self with  gratification. 

''If  only  I had  known,  Sir  Richard, 
that  you  were  in  America!  The  papers 
were  unusually  silent — outrageously  si- 
lent, you  know.  I can  not  imagine  how 
you  managed  to  elude  the  reporters. 
They  are  usually  so  persistent,  so  inde- 
cently curious.  I really  can  not  imagine 
how  you  achieved  it!” 

*'I  did  not  wish  to  talk  to  idiotic  old 
women,  to  lecture  before  mattords,  to 
have  my  photo  reproduced  in  yoor  ab- 
surd papers.”  Sir  Richard’s  voice  was 
oddly  high-pitched,  almost  effeminate, 
and  it  quivered  with  the  intensity  of  his 
emotion.  "I  detest  publicity,  and  I re- 
gret that  I am  not  utterly  unknown  in 
this — er — region.” 

"I  quite  understand.  Sir  Richard,” 
murmured  the  curator  soothingly.  “You 
naturally  desired  leisure  for  research,  for 
discussion.  You  were  not  interested  in 
what  the  vulgar  would  say  or  think  about 
you.  A commendable  and  eminently 
scholarly  attitude  to  take.  Sir  Richard! 
A splendid  attitude!  I quite  understand 
and  sympathize.  We  Americans  have  to 
be  polite  to  the  press  occasionally,  but 
you  have  no  idea  how  it  cramps  our 
style,  if  I may  use  an  expressiye  but  ex- 
ceedingly coarse  colloquialism.  It  really 
does.  Sir  Richard.  You  have  no  idea — 
but  do  come  in.  Come  in,  by  all  means. 
We  are  honored  immeasurably  by  the 
visit  of  so  eminent  a scholar.” 

SIR  RICHARD  bowed  stiffly  and  preceded 
the  curator  into  die  office.  He  se- 
leaed  the  most  comfortable  of  the  five 
leather-backed  chairs  that  encircled  the 
curator’s  desk  and  sank  into  it  with  a 
faintly  audible  sigh.  He  neither  re- 


moved his  hat  nor  withdrew  the  muffler 
from  his  pinkish  visage. 

'The  curator  seleaed  a seat  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  table  and  politely  ex- 
tended a box  of  Havana  panetelas.  “Ex- 
tremely mild,”  he  murmured.  “Won’t 
you  try  one.  Sir  Richard?” 

Sir  Richard  shook  his  head.  “I  have 
never  smoked,’^  he  said,  and  coug^ied. 

'There  ensued  a silence.  Then  Sir 
Richard  apologized  for  the  muffler.  “I 
had  an  unfortunate  accident  on  the  ship,” 
he  explained.  “I  stumbled  in  one  of 
the  deck  games  and  cut  my  face  rather 
badly.  It’s  in  a positively  unpresentable 
condition.  I know  you-’ll  pardon  me  if 
I don’t  remove  this  muffler.” 

The  curator  gasped.  “How  horrible. 
Sir  Richard!  I can  sympathize,  believe 
me.  I hope  that  it  will  not  leave  a scar. 
One  should  have  the  most  expert  advice 
in  such  matters.  I hope — Sir  Richard, 
have  you  consulted  a specialist,  may  I 
ask?” 

Sir  Richard  nodded,  '"rhe  wounds  are 
not  deep — nothing  serious,  I assure  you. 
And  now,  Mr.  Buzzby,  I should  like  to 
discuss  with  you  the  mission  that  has 
brought  me  to  Boston.  Are  the  pre- 
dynastic  remains  from  Luxor  on  exhibi- 
tion?” 

’The  curator  was  a trifle  disconcerted. 
He  had  placed  the  Luxor  remains  on  ex- 
hibition that  very  morning,  but  he  had 
not  as  yet  arranged  them  to  his  satisfac- 
tion, and  he  would  have  preferred  that 
his  distinguished  guest  should  view  them 
at  a later  date.  But  he  very  clearly  per- 
ceived that  Sir  Richard  was  so  intensely 
interested  that  nothing  that  he  could  say 
would  induce  him  to  wait,  and  he  was 
proud  of  the  remains  and  flattered  that 
England’s  ablest  Egyptologist  should 
have  come  to  the  city  expressly  to  see 
them.  So  he  nodded  amiably  and  <pn- 
fessed  that  the  bones  were  on  exhibition. 


3$8 


.WEIRD  TALES 


and  he  added  that  he  would  be  delighted 
and  honored  if  Sir  Richard  would  view 
them. 

"They  are  truly  marvelous,”  he  ex- 
plained. "The  pure  Egyptian  type — do- 
lichocephalic, with  relatively  primitive 
features.  And  they  date — Sir  Richard, 
they  date  from  at  least  8000  B.  C.” 

"Are  the  bones  tinted?” 

"I  should  say  so,  Sir  Richard!  They 
are  wonderfully  tinted,  and  the  original 
colors  have  scarcely  faded  at  all.  Blue 
and  red.  Sir  Richard,  with  red  predom- 
inating.” 

"Hm.  A most  absurd  custom,”  mur- 
mured Sir  Richard. 

Mr.  Buzzby  smiled.  "I  have  always 
considered  it  pathetic.  Sir  Richard.  In- 
finitely amusing,  but  pathetic.  They 
thought  that  by  painting  the  bones  they 
could  preserve  Ae  vitality  of  the  cor- 
ruptible body.  Cormption  putting  on 
incorruption,  as  it  were.” 

"It  was  blasphemous!”  Sir  Richard 
had  arisen  from  his  chair.  His  face, 
above  the  muffler,  was  curiously  white, 
and  thete  was  a hard,  metallic  glitter  in 
his  small  dark  eyes.  "They  sought  to 
cheat  Osiris!  They  had  no  conception  of 
hyperphysical  realities!” 

The  curator  stared  curiously.  "Pre- 
cisely what  do  you  mean.  Sir  Richard?” 

Sir  Richard  started  a trifle  at  the  ques- 
tion, as  though  he  were  awakening  from 
some  strange  nightmare,  and  his  emo- 
tion ebbed  as  rapidly  as  it  had  arisen. 
The  glitter  died  out  of  his  eyes  and  he 
sank  listlessly  back  in  his  chair.  *T — 
I was  merely  amused  by  your  comment. 
As  thou^  by  merely  painting  their  mum- 
mies they  could  restore  the  circulation  of 
the  blood!” 

“But  that,  as  you  know.  Sir  Richard, 
would  occur  in  the  other  world.  It  was 
one  of  the  most  distinctive  prerogatives 
of  Osiris.  He  alone  could  restore  the 
dead.” 


"Yes,  I know,”  murmured  Sir  Richard. 
"They  coimted  a good  deal  on  Osiris.  It 
is  curious  that  it  never  occurred  to  them 
that  the  god  might  be  offended  by  their 
presumptions.” 

"You  are  forgetting  the  Book  of  the 
Dead,  Sir  Richard.  The  promises  in 
that  are  very  definite.  And  it  is  an  in- 
conceivably ancient  book.  I am  strongly 
convinced  that  it  was  in  existence  in 
10,000  B.  C.  You  have  read  my  brochure 
on  the  subjea?” 

Sir  Richard  nodded.  "A  very  schol- 
arly work.  But  I believe  that  the  Book 
of  the  Dead  as  we  know  it  was  a for- 
gery!” 

"Sir  Richard!” 

"Parts  of  it  are  undoubtedly  pre-dy- 
nastic,  but  I believe  that  the  Judgment 
of  the  Dead,  which  defines  the  judicial 
prerogatives  of  Osiris,  was  inserted  by 
some  meddling  priest  as  late  as  the  his- 
torical period.  It  is  a deliberate  attempt 
to  modify  the  relentless  charaaer  of 
Egypt’s  supreme  deity.  Osiris  does  not 
judge,  he  takes.” 

"He  takes.  Sir  Richard?” 

• "Precisely.  Do  you  imagine  anyone 
can  ever  cheat  death?  Do  you  imagine 
that,  Mr.  Buzzby?  Do  you  imagine  for 
one  moment  that  Osiris  would  restore  to 
life  the  fools  that  returned  to  him?” 

Mr.  Buzzby  colored.  It  was  difficult 
to  believe  that  Sir  Richard  was  really  in 
earnest.  "Then  you  honestly  believe 
that  the  charaaer  of  Osiris  as  we  know  it 
is 

"A  myth,  yes.  A deliberate  and  child- 
ish evasion.  No  man  can  ever  compre- 
hend the  charaaer  of  Osiris.  He  is  the 
Dark  God.  But  he  treasures  his  own." 

"Eh?”  Mr.  Buzzby  was  genuinely 
startled  by  the  tone  of  ferocity  in  which 
the  last  remark  was  uttered.  "What  did 
you  say.  Sir  Richard?” 

“NoAing.”  Sir  Richard  had  risen 
and  was  standing  before  a small  revolv- 


A VISITOR  FROM  EGYPT 


359 


ing  bookcase  in  the  center  of  the  room. 
"Nothing,  Mr.  Bu2zby.  But  your  taste 
in  fiaion  interests  me  extremely.  I had 
no  idea  you  read  young  Finchley!" 

Mr.  Buzzby  blushed  and  looked  gen- 
uinely distressed.  "I  don’t  ordinarily,” 
he  said.  "I  despise  fiction  ordinarily. 
And  young  Finchley’s  romances  are  un- 
utterably silly.  He  isn’t  even  a passable 
scholar.  But  that  book  has — ^well,  there 
are  a few  good  things  in  it.  I was  read- 
ing it  this  morning  on  the  train  and  put 
it  with  the  other  books  temporarily  be- 
cause I had  no  other  place  to  put  it.  You 
understand.  Sir  Richard?  We  all  have 
our  little  foibles,  eh?  A work  of  fiaion 
now  and  then  is  sometimes — er — ^well, 
suggestive.  And  H.  E.  Finchley  is  rath- 
er suggestive  occasionally.” 

"He  is,  indeed.  His  Egyptian  redac- 
tions are  imaginative  masterpieces!” 

"You  amaze  me.  Sir  Richard.  Imag- 
ination in  a scholar  is  to  be  deplored. 
But  of  course,  as  I said,  H.  E.  Finchley 
is  not  a scholar  and  his  work  is  occasion- 
ally illuminating  if  one  doesn’t  take  it  too 
seriously.” 

"He  knows  his  Egypt.” 

"Sir  Richard,  I can’t  believe  you  really 
approve  of  him.  A mere  fiaionist ” 

Sir  Richard  had  removed  the  book  and 
opened  it  casually.  "May  I ask,  Mr. 
Buzzby,  if  you  are  familiar  with  Qiapter 
13,  The  Transfiguration  of  Osiris?” 

"Bless  me.  Sir  Richard,  I am  not.  I 
skipped  that  portion.  Such  purely  gro- 
tesque rubbish  repelled  me.” 

"Did  it,  Mr.  Buzzby?  But  the  repel- 
lent is  usually  arresting.  Just  listen  to 
this: 

"It  is  beyond  dispute  that  Osiris  made  his  wor- 
shipers dream  strange  things  of  him,  and  that  he 
possessed  their  bodies  and  souls  forever.  There 
is  a devilish  wrath  against  mankind  with  which 
Osiris  was  for  Death’s  sake  inspired.  In  the  cool 
of  the  evening  he  walked  among  men,  and  upon 
his  head  was  the  Crown  of  Upper  Egypt,  and  his 
cheeks  were  inflated  with  a wind  that  slew.  His 
face  was  veiled  so  that  no  man  could  see  it,  but 


assuredly  it  was  on  old  face,  very  old  and  dead 
and  dry,  for  the  world  was  young  when  tall 
Osiris  died.” 

Sir  ESchard  snapped  the  book  shut  and 
replaced  it  in  the  shelf.  "What  do  you 
think  of  that,  Mr.  Buzzby?”  he  inquired. 

"Rot,”  murmured  the  curator.  "Sheer, 
unadulterated  rot.” 

"Of  course,  of  course.  Mr.  Buzzby, 
did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  a god  may 
live,  figuratively,  a dog’s  life?” 

"Eh?” 

"Gods  are  transfigured,  you  know. 
They  go  up  in  smgke,  as  it  were.  In 
smoke  and  flame.  'They  become  pure 
flame,  pure  spirit,  creatures  with  no  visi- 
ble body.” 

"Dear,  dear.  Sir  Richard,  that  had  not 
occurred  to  me.”  The  curator  laughed 
and  nudged  Sir  Richard’s  arm.  "Beastly 
sense  of  humor,”  he  murmured,  to  him- 
self. "The  man  is  unutterably  silly.” 

"It  would  be  dreadful,  for  example,” 
continued  Sir  Richard,  "if  the  god  had  no 
control  over  his  transfiguration;  if  the 
change  occurred  frequently  and  unex- 
peaedly;  if  he  shared,  as  it  were,  the 
ghastly  fate  of  a Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde.” 

Sir  Richard  was  advancing  toward  the 
door.  He  moved  with  a curious,  shuf- 
fling gait  and  his  shoes  scraped  peculiarly 
upon  the  floor.  Mr.  Buzzby  was  in- 
stantly at  his  elbow.  "What  is  the  mat- 
ter, Sir  Richard?  What  has  happened?” 

"Nothing!”  Sir  Richard’s  voice  rose  in 
hysterical  denial.  "Nothing.  Where  is 
the  lavatory,  Mr.  Buzzby?” 

"Down  one  flight  of  stairs  on  yoiu: 
left  as  you  leave  the  corridor,”  muttered 
Mr.  Buzzby.  "Are — are  you  ill?” 

"It  is  nothing,  nothing,”  murmured 
Sir  Richard.  "I  must  have  a drink  of 
water,  that  is  all.  The  injury  has — er — 
affeaed  my  throat.  When  it  becomes 
too  dry  it  pains  dreadfully.” 

"Good  heavens!”  murmured  the  cura- 


36Q 


WEIRD  TALES 


tor.  “I  can  send  for  water,  Sir  Richard. 
I can  indeed.  I beg  you  not  to  disturb 
yourself." 

"No,  no,  I insist  that  you  do  not.  I 
shall  return  immediately.  Please  do  not 
send  for  anything.” 

Before  the  curator  could  renew  his 
protestations  Sir  Richard  had  passed 
throu^  the  door  and  disappeared  down 
the  corridor. 

Mr.  buzzby  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  returned  to  his  desk.  "A 
most  extraordinary  person,"  he  muttered. 
"Erudite  and  original,  but  queer.  De- 
cidedly queer.  Still,  it  is  pleasant  to  re- 
flea that  he  has  read  my  brochure.  A 
scholar  of  his  distinaion  might  very  par- 
donably have  overlooked  it.  He  called 
it  a scholarly  work.  A scholarly  work. 
Hmm.  Very  gratifying,  I’m  sure.” 

Mr.  Buzzby  clipped  and  lit  a cigar. 

"Of  course  he  is  wrong  about  the 
Book  of  the  Dead,”  he  mused.  "Osiris 
was  a most  benevolent  god.  It  Is  true 
that  the  Egyptians  feared  him,  but  only 
because  he  was  supposed  to  judge  the 
dead.  'There  was  nothing  essentially 
evil  or  cruel  about  him.  Sir  Richard  is 
quite  wrong  about  that.  It  is  curious 
that  a man  so  eminent  could  go  so  sensa- 
tionally astray.  I can  use  no  other 
phrase.  Sensationally  astray.  I really 
believe  that  my  arguments  impressed 
him,  though.  I could  see  that  he  was 
impressed.” 

'The  curator’s  pleasant  refleaions  were 
coarsely  and  unexpectedly  interrupted  by 
a shout  in  the  corridor.  "Get  them  ex- 
tinguishers down!  Quick,  you  b .” 

’The  curator  gasped  and  rose  hastily  to 
his  feet.  Profanity  violated  all  the  rules 
of  the  museum  and  he  had  always  firmly 
insisted  that  the  rules  should  be  obeyed. 
Striding  quickly  to  the  door  he  threw  it 
open  and  stared  incredulously  down  the 
corridor. 


"What  was  that?”  he  cried.  "Did 
anyone  call?” 

He  heard  hurried  steps  and  the  sound 
of  someone  shouting,  and  then  an  at- 
tendant appeared  at  the  end  of  the  corri- 
dor. "Come  quickly,  sir!”  he  exclaimed. 
'"There’s  fire  and  smoke  cornin’  out  of  the 
basement!” 

Mr.  Buzzby  groaned.  What  a dread- 
ful thing  to  happen  when  he  had  such  a 
distinguished  guest!  He  raced  down  the 
corridor  and  seized  the  attendant  angrily 
by  the  arm.  "Did  Sir  Richard  get  out?” 
he  demanded.  "Answer  me!  Is  Sir 
Richard  down  there  now?” 

"Who?”  gasped  the  attendant. 

"The  gentleman  who  went  down  a 
few  minutes  ago,  you  idiot.  A tall  gen- 
tleman wearing  a blue  coat?” 

"I  dunno,  sir.  I didn’t  see  nobody 
come  up.” 

"Good  God!”  Mr.  Buzzby  was  fran- 
tic. "We  must  get  him  out  immediate- 
ly. I believe  that  he  was  ill.  He’s 
probably  fainted.” 

He  strode  to  the  end  of  the  corridor 
and  stared  down  the  smoke-filled  stair- 
case leading  to  the  lavatory.  Immediate- 
ly beneath  him  three  attendants  were 
cautiously  advancing.  Wet  handker- 
chiefs, bound  securely  about  their  faces, 
proteaed  them  from  Ae  aaid  fumes,  and 
each  held  at  arm’s  length  a cylindrical 
fire  extinguisher.  As  they  descended  the 
stairs  they  squirted  the  liquid  contents  of 
the  extinguishers  into  the  rapidly  rising 
spirals  of  lethal  blue  smoke. 

"It  was  much  worse  a minute  ago,” 
exclaimed  the  attendant  at  Mr.  Buzzby’s 
elbow.  "'The  smoke  was  thicker  and 
had  a most  awful  smell.  Like  them 
dinosaur  eggs  smelt  when  you  first  un- 
packed ’em  last  spring,  sir.” 

’The  attendants  had  now  reached  the 
base  of  the  staircase  and  were  peering 
cautiously  into  the  lavatory.  For  a mo- 
ment they  peered  in  silence,  and  then  one 


A VISITOR  FROM  EGYPT 


361 


of  them  shouted  up  at  Mr.  Bu22by. 
"The  smoke’s  dreadfully  dense  here,  sir.. 
We  can’t  see  any  flames.  Shall  we  go 
in,  sir?’’ 

"Yes,  do!”  Mr.  Buzzby’s  voice  was 
tragically  shrill  "Do  all  you  can. 
Please!” 

The  attendants  disappeared  into  the 
lavatory  and  the  curator  waited  with 
an  agonized  and  expectant  ait.  His 
heart  was  wnmg  at  the  thought  of  the 
fate  which  had  in  all  probability  over- 
taken his  distinguished  guest,  but  he 
could  not  think  of  anything  further  to 
do.  Sinister  fordbodings  crowded  into 
his  mind,  but  he  was  powerless  to  act. 

'Then  it  was  that  the  shrieks  com- 
menced. From  whatever  cause  arising 
they  were  truly  ghastly,  but  they  began 
so  suddenly,  so  imexpeaedly,  that  at  fost 
the  curator  could  form  no  theory  as  to 
what  had  caused  them.  'They  issued  so 
horribly  and  suddenly  from  the  lavatory, 
echoing  and  re-echoing  through  the 
empty  corridors,  that  the  curator  could 
only  stare  and  gasp. 

But  when  they  became  fairly  coherent, 
when  the  screams  of  affright  turned  to 
appeals  for  mercy,  for  pity,  and  when 
the  language  in  which  they  found  grim 
expression  changed  too,  becoming  famil- 
iar to  the  curator  but  incomprehensible 
to  the  man  beside  him,  a dreadful  inci- 
dent occurred  which  the  latter  has  never 
been  able  to  consign  to  a merciful  mne- 
monic oblivion. 

'The  curator  fell  upon  his  knees,  liter- 
ally went  down  upon  his  knees  at  the 
head  of  the  staircase  and  raised  both  arms 
in  an  unmistakid>le  gesture  of  supplica- 
tion. And  then  from  his  ashen  lips 
there  poured  a torrent  of  grotesque  gib- 
berish: 

"sdmw  s«a  Osiris!  sdmw  stn  Osiris! 
sdmw  sm  Osiris!  sdm-f  Osiris!  Oh, 
sdm-f  Osiris!  sdmw  stn  Osiris!” 


"Fool!”  A muffled  form  emerged 
from  the  lavatory  and  ponderously  as- 
cended the  stairs.  "Fool!  You — ^you 
have  sinned  irretrievably!”  *1116  voice 
was  guttural,  harsh,  remote,  and  seemed 
to  come  from  an  immeasurable  distance. 

"Sir  Richard!  Sir  Richard!”  The 
curator  got  stumblingly  to  his  feet  and 
staggered  toward  the  ascending  figure. 
"Protea  me.  Sir  Richard.  There’s  some- 
thing unspeakable  down  there.  I thought 
— for  a moment  I thought — Sir  Richard, 
did  you  see  it.^  Did  you  hear  anything.? 
those  shrieks ” 

But  Sir  Richard  did  not  reply.  He 
did  not  even  look  at  the  curator.  He 
brushed  past  the  unfortunate  man  as 
though  he  were  a mere  meddling  fool, 
and  grimly  began  to  climb  the  stairs  that 
led  to  the  Hall  of  Egyptian  Antiquities. 
He  ascended  so  rapidly  that  the  curator 
could  not  catch  up  with  him,  and  before 
the  frightened  man  had  reached  the  half- 
way landing  his  steps  were  resounding  on 
the  tiled  floor  above. 

"Wait,  Sir  Richard!”  shrieked  Buzzby. 
"Wait,  please!  I am  sure  that  you  can 
explain  everything.  I am  afraid.  Please 
wait  for  me!” 

A spasm  of  coughing  seized  him,  and 
at  that  moment  there  ensued  a most 
dreadful  crash.  Fragments  of  broken 
glass  tinkled  suggestively  upon  the  stone 
floor,  and  awoke  ominous  echoes  in  the 
corridor  and  up  and  down  the  winding 
stairway.  Mr.  Buzzby  clung  to  the  ban- 
isters and  moaned.  His  face  was  pur- 
plish and  distorted  with  fear  and  beads 
of  sweat  glistened  on  his  high  forehead. 
For  a moment  he  remained  thus  cowering 
and  whimpering  on  the  staircase.  'Then, 
miraculously,  his  courage  returned.  He 
ascended  the  last  flight  three  steps  at  a 
time  and  dashed  wildly  forward. 

An  intolerable  thought  had  abruptly 
been  bom  in  the  poor,  bewildered  brain 
of  Mr.  Buzzby.  It  had  suddenly  occurred 


362 


WEIRD  TALES 


to  him  that  Sir  Richard  wais  an  impostor, 
a murderous  madman  intent  only  upon 
destruction,  and  that  his  collections  were 
in  immediate  danger.  Whatever  Mr.  Buzz- 
by’s  human  deficiencies,  in  his  profession- 
al capacity  he  was  conscientious  and  ag- 
gressive to  an  almost  abnormal  degree. 
And  the  crash  had  been  unmistakable  and 
susceptible  of  only  one  explanation.  Mr. 
Buzzby  completely  forgot  his  fear  in  his 
concern  for  his  precious  colleaions.  Sir 
Richard  had  smashed  one  of  the  cases 
and  was  extraaing  its  contents!  There 
was  little  doubt  in  Mr.  Buzzby’ s mind 
as  to  which  of  the  cases  Sir  Richard  had 
smashed.  “The  Luxor  remains  can  never 
be  duplicated,”  he  moaned.  “I  have 
been  horribly  duped!” 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  stared.  At 
the  very  entrance  to  the  Hall  lay  an  as- 
sortment of  garments  which  he  instantly 
recognized.  There  was  the  blue  chin- 
chilla coat  and  the  Alpine  Homburg 
with  its  high  tapering  crown,  and  the 
blue  silk  muffler  that  had  concealed  so 
effectively  the  face  of  his  visitor.  And 
on  the  very  top  of  the  heap  lay  a pair  of 
yellow  suede  gloves. 

“Good  God!”  muttered  Mr.  Buzzby. 
“The  man  has  shed  all  of  his  clothes!” 

He  stood  there  for  a moment  staring 
in  utter  bewilderment  and  then  with 
long,  hysterical  strides  he  advanced  into 
the  hall.  "A  hopeless  maniac,”  he  mut- 
tered, under  his  breath.  “A  sheer,  rav- 
ing lunatic.  Why  did  I not ” 

Then,  abruptly,  he  ceased  to  reproach 
himself.  He  forgot  entirely  his  folly, 
the  heap  of  clothes,  and  the  smashed 
case.  Everything  that  had  up  to  that 
moment  occupied  his  mind  was  instantly 
extruded  and  he  shriveled  and  shrank 
with  fear.  Never  had  the  unwilling  gaze 
of  Mr.  Buzzby  encountered  such  a sight. 

Mr.  Buzzby’s  visitor  was  bending  over 
the  shattered  case  and  only  his  back  was 
visible.  But  it  was  not  an  ordinary  back. 


In  a lucid,  unemotional  moment  Mr. 
Buzzby  would  have  called  it  a nasty,  ma- 
lignant back,  but  in  juxtaposition  with 
the  crown  that  topped  it  there  is  no 
Aryan  polysyllable  suggestive  enough  to 
describe  it.  For  the  crown  was  very  tall 
and  ponderous  with  jewels  and  unspeak- 
ably luminous,  and  it  accentuated  the  vile- 
ness of  the  back.  It  was  a green  back. 
Sapless  was  the  word  that  ran  through 
Mr.  Buzzby’s  mind  as  he  stood  and  stared 
at  it.  And  it  was  wrinkled,  too,  horribly 
wrinkled,  all  crisscrossed  with  centuried 
grooves. 

Mr.  Buzzby  did  not  even  notice  his 
visitor’s  neck,  which  glistened  and  was 
as  thin  as  a bean-pole,  nor  the  small 
round  scaly  head  that  bobbed  and  nodded 
ominously.  He  saw  only  the  hideous 
back,  and  the  tmbelievably  awesome 
crown.  The  aown  shed  a fiery  radiance 
upon  the  reddish  tiles  of  the  dim,  vast 
hall,  and  the  starkly  nude  body  twisted 
and  turned  and  writhed  shockingly. 

Blade  horror  clutched  at  Mr.  Buzzby’s 
throat,  and  his  lips  trembled  as  though 
he  were  about  to  cry  out.  But  he  spoke 
no  word.  He  had  staggered  back  against 
the  wall  and  was  making  curious  futile 
gestures  with  his  arms,  as  though  he 
sought  to  embrace  the  darkness,  to  wrap 
the  darkness  in  the  hall  about  him,  to 
make  himself  as  inconspicuous  as  possi- 
ble and  invisible  to  the  thing  that  was 
bending  over  the  case.  But  apparently 
he  soon  found  to  his  infinite  dismay  that 
the  thing  was  aware  of  his  presence,  and 
as  it  turned  slowly  toward  him  he  made 
no  further  attempt  to  obliterate  himself, 
but  went  down  on  his  knees  and 
screamed  and  screamed  and  screamed. 

Silently  the  figure  advanced  toward 
him.  It  seemed  to  glide  rather  than  to 
walk,  and  in  its  terribly  lean  arms  it  held 
a queer  assortment  of  brilliant  scarlet 
bones.  And  it  cackled  loathsomely  as  it 
advanced. 


THE  PHANTOMS  OF  THE  FIRE 


363 


And  dien  it  was  that  Mr.  Buzzby’s 
sanity  departed  utterly.  He  groveled  and 
gibbered  and  dragged  himself  along  the 
floor  like  a man  in  the  grip  of  an  instan- 
taneous catalepsy.  And  all  the  while  he 
murmured  incoherently  about  how  spot- 
less he  was  and  would  Osiris  spare  him 
and  how  he  longed  to  reconcile  himself 
with  Osiris., 

But  the  figure,  when  it  got  to  him, 
merely  stooped  and  breathed  on  him. 
Three  times  it  breathed  on  his  ashen  face 
and  one  could  almost  see  the  face  shrivel 
and  blacken  beneath  its  warm  breath. 


For  some  time  it  remained  in  a stooping 
posture,  glaring  glassily,  and  when  it 
arose  Mr.  Buzzby  made  no  effort  to  de- 
tain it.  Holding  the  scarlet  bones  very 
firmly  in  its  horribly  thin  arms  it  glided 
rapidly  away  in  the  direaion  of  the  stairs. 
The  attendants  did  not  see  it  descend. 
No  one  ever  saw  it  again. 

And  when  the  coroner,  arriving  in  re- 
sponse to  the  tardy  summons  of  an  at- 
tendant, examined  Mr.  Buzzby’s  body, 
the  conclusion  was  unavoidable  that  the 
curator  had  been  dead  for  a long,  long 
time. 


A Briefs  Strange  Story 


THE  PHANTOMS 
OF  THE  FIRE 

By  CLARK  ASHTON  SMITH 


IT  WAS  late  summer,  and  the  George- 
town road  was  deep  with  dust,  which 
had  settled  like  a dun  pall  on  the  bor- 
dering chaparral  and  pines.  Since  he  had 
walked  all  the  way  from  Auburn  without 
securing  a single  lift,  the  man  who  was 
trudging  along  the  toad  with  the  broil- 
ing afternoon  sun  on  his  back  was  hardly 
less  dusty  than  the  trees.  He  paused  now 
and  then  to  mop  his  face  with  a discol- 
ored handkerchief,  or  to  peer  rather 
wistfully  at  the  occasional  cars  which 
passed  him  without  offering  to  stop.  His 
clothing,  though  not  actually  ragged, 
was  old  and  worn,  and  had  the  indescrib- 
able shapelessness  of  clothing  that  has 
been  slept  in.  He  was  very  thin,  stoop- 
^ shouldered,  and  discouraged-looking;  his 


general  aspea  was  almost  that  of  a pro- 
fessional tramp;  and  the  people  of  the 
countryside  were  suspicious  of  tramps. 

“Well,  I guess  I’ll  have  t’  walk  all  the 
way,’’  he  said  to  himself,  whining  a little 
even  in  his  thoughts.  “But  it  ain’t  much 
further  now.  . . . Gosh,  but  things  is 
hot  an’  dry.’’  He  looked  about  him  at 
the  familiar  landscape  of  parched  grass, 
brushwood  and  yellow  pines  with  an 
appraising  eye.  “Wonder  there  ain’t 
b^  more  fires — there  alluz  is  at  this 
time  o’  year.’’ 

'The  man  was  Jonas  McGillicuddy,  and 
he  was  on  his  way  home  after  a some- 
what prolonged  absence.  His  return  was 
unannounced,  and  would  prove  as  unex- 
pected to  his  wife  and  three  diildren  as 


364 


WEIRD  TALES 


his  departure  had  been.  Tired  of  trying 
to  extort  a living  from  a small  vineyard 
and  pear-orchard  of  rocky  El  Dorado 
land,  and  tired  also  of  the  perennial  nag- 
ging of  his  frail,  sensitive-nerved  and 
sorely  disappointed  wife,  Jonas  had  left 
abruptly,  three  years  before,  after  a quar- 
rel of  more  than  customary  bitterness  and 
acerbity  with  his  helpmate.  Since  then, 
he  had  heard  nothing  from  his  family, 
for  the  good  and  sufficient  reason  that 
he  had  not  sought  to  commimicate  witli 
them.  His  various  attempts  to  earn  a 
livelihood  had  proved  scarcely  more  suc- 
cessful than  the  fruit-ranching  venture, 
and  he  had  drifted  aimlessly  and  ineffec- 
tually from  place  to  place,  from  situation 
to  situation — a forlorn  and  increasingly 
desperate  figure.  For  a man  of  such 
shifting,  unstable  temperament,  when  all 
else  had  failed  him,  and  he  had  wearied 
of  the  hopeless  struggle,  it  was  not  un- 
natural to  think  of  returning.  Time  had 
softened  his  memory  of  his  wife’s  unde- 
pendable temper,  of  her  shrewish  out- 
bursts; but  he  had  not  forgotten  her 
motherly  ways  when  she  was  in  a more 
traaable  hiunor,  nor  her  excellent  cook- 
ing. 

Now,  with  empty  pockets,  since  his 
last  money  had  sufficed  merely  to  pay  his 
train-fare  to  Sacramento,  Jonas  was  near- 
ing the  hills  in*  which  lay  his  forest-sur- 
rounded ranch  beyond  Georgetown.  'The 
country  through  which  he  tramped  was 
sparsely  peopled,  and  there  were  great 
stretches  of  softly  rolling  hills  and  low 
valleys  that  had  not  known  the  touch  of 
cultivation.  The  ranches  were  often 
quite  isolated.  Beyond  all,  in  the  hazy 
blue  of  the  distance,  were  the  vague  and 
spearal  snows  of  the  Sierras. 

"Gosh,  but  one  of  Matilda’s  pear 
pies’ll  taste  good,”  thought  the  wanderer. 
His  mouth  began  to  water.  He  was  not 
refleaive  enough,  however,  to  wonder 
just  what  his  reception  would  be.  beyond 


an  uneasy  surmise  that  Matilda  might 
give  him  a terrific  scolding  for  his  ab- 
sence. "But  mebbe  she’ll  be  mighty  glad 
t’  see  me,  after  all,”  he  consoled  himself. 
’Then  he  tried  to  picture  his  children,  the 
five-year  old  boy  and  the  girl-babies  of 
three  and  two  respeaively  whom  he  had 
last  seen. 

"Guess  they’ll  have  forgotten  they  had 
a papa,”  he  mused.  'The  afternoon  had 
been  utterly  still  and  airless,  with  a sul- 
try brooding  in  its  silence.  Now,  from 
the  northeast,  along  the  road  he  was  travel- 
ling, there  came  a gust  of  wind,  and  with  it 
the  unmistakable  acrid  odor  of  burnt  grass 
and  trees. 

"Hell,  there  has  been  a fire  after  all,” 
muttered  Jonas,  with  an  imeasy  start.  He 
peered  anxiously  ahead,  but  could  see  no 
smoke  above  the  dun  and  gray-green 
hills.  "Guess  it’s  all  out  now,  anyway.” 

He  came  to  the  top  of  the  low  slope 
he  was  climbing,  and  saw  before  him  the 
burnt  area,  which  lay  on  both  sides  of  the 
road  and  was  of  indeterminable  extent. 
’The  brown  foliage  of  heat-seared  oaks 
and  the  black  skeletons  of  bushes  and 
pines  were  everywhere.  A few  fallen  logs 
and  old  stumps  were  still  smoking  a little, 
as  is  their  wont  for  days  after  the  ex- 
tinguishment of  a forest  fire.  It  was  a 
scene  of  complete  and  irremediable  deso- 
lation. 

Jonas  hurried  on,  with  a sense  of 
growing  panic,  for  he  was  now  little 
more  than  a mile  from  his  own  property. 
He  thought  of  the  yellow  pines  that 
stood  so  close  and  tall  about  his  cabin — 
the  pines  which  he  had  wished  to  fell, 
but  had  spared  at  the  earnest  solicitation 
of  the  nature-loving  Matilda. 

"’They’re  so  pretty,  Jonas,”  she  had 
said,  pleadingly.  "I  just  can’t  see  them 

go-” 

"Hope  the  fire  didn’t  get  into  them 
pines,”  thought  Jonas  now.  "Gosh,  but  I 
wish  I’d  cut  ’em  down  when  I wuz 


THE  PHANTOMS  OF  THE  FIRE 


365 


plannin’  to.  It  would  have  been  a lot 
safer;  and  I’d  have  had  the  money  for 
the  wood,  too.” 

The  road  was  strewn  in  places  with 
ashen  leaves,  with  the  charcoal  of  fallen 
brands,  and  several  trees  had  crashed 
across  it,  but  had  now  been  removed  to 
permit  the  passage  of  traffic.  It  was  hot- 
ter than  ever,  in  this  charred  and  black- 
ened waste,  for  the  brief  gust  of  wind 
had  fallen.  The  dust  on  Jonas’  cheeks 
was  runneled  with  sweat  which  he  no 
longer  paused  to  wipe  away.  Irrespon- 
sible as  he  was,  a strange  gravity  had 
come  over  the  wastrel,  and  he  felt  an 
ever-deepening  premonition  of  calamity. 

He  came  at  last  to  the  little  by-road 
which  turned  off  to  his  ranch  from  the 
Georgetown  highway.  Here,  he  found 
with  a sinking  heart,  the  fire  had  also 
been,  and  had  left  nothing  but  devasta- 
tion. In  spite  of  his  fatigue,  he  almost 
ran,  with  long,  shambling  steps,  and 
rounding  a turn  in  the  by-road,  saw  that 
the  fire  had  stopped  at  the  very  verge  of 
his  own  property.  'The  hillside  orchard 
of  stunted  pear  trees,  the  straggling  vines 
of  Mission  and  Muscat  grapes,  were  quite 
as  he  remembered  them;  and  beyond,  in 
the  grove  of  yellow  pines,  he  could  see 
the  wreathing  smoke  that  arose  from  the 
chimney  of  his  cabin.  Panting  heavily, 
he  paused,  with  a sense  of  relief  and 
thanksgiving  as  poignant  as  anything  of 
which  his  dulled  heart  was  capable. 

'The  sun  had  almost  touched  the 
horizon,  as  he  climbed  the  winding  road 
through  the  orchard  and  entered  the 
grove  above.  Aisles  of  light  perceptibly 
tinged  with  gold  lay  between  the  elon- 
gated shadows.  Even  to  the  sodden,  in- 
sensitive Jonas,  the  beauty  of  the  wood- 
land scene,  the  magic  of  the  sunset,  the 
high,  solemn,  dark-green  pines  and  the 
rich  glow  sifting  among  them  on  man- 
zanita-bushes  and  beds  of  brown  needles, 
were  not  without  their  charm.  He  drew 


a long  breath,  inhaling  the  clean  balsams 
that  the  hot  sun  had  drawn  from  the  for- 
est, and  feeling  as  he  did  so  a vague 
pleasure. 

Now  he  could  see  his  cabin,  a long, 
four-roomed  shack  of  plain,  unpainted 
boards  and  weather-darkened  shingles.  A 
woman  in  calico  was  standing  in  front  of 
the  steps.  Two  little  girls  were  beside 
her,  and  he  wondered  as  to  the  where- 
abouts of  the  boy,  who  had  been  a fragile 
youngster,  always  ailing  and  fretful. 
"Mebbe  Bill  is  sick  agin,”  mused  Jonas. 
He  was  very  glad  to  be  home,  but  he  felt 
a little  doubtful,  a trifle  tremulous,  as  to 
the  greeting  he  would  receive  from  Ma- 
tilda. 

'The  woman  looked  up  as  he  ap- 
proached, shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand 
from  the  last  rays  of  the  sun,  which  fell 
horizontally  through  the  wood.  He  could 
see  her  apron,  which  was  quite  clean,  as 
always,  though  worn  and  faded  from 
many  washings,  like  her  dress.  She  did 
not  seem  to  perceive  him,  but  was  appar- 
ently staring  with  great  intenmess  at 
something  among  the  trees.  'The  chil- 
dren also  stared,  and  huddled  closer  to 
her,  clinging  to  the  hem  of  her  gown. 

Jonas  tried  to  call  out:  "Hello,  Matil- 
da,” but  his  throat  was  so  dry  and  dusty 
that  the  words  were  no  more  than  a 
hoarse  whisper.  He  started  to  clear  his 
throat,  but  the  simple  aa  was  never  fin- 
ished, for  at  that  moment,  the  whole 
scene  before  him,  the  trees,  the  cabin,  the 
woman  and  the  children,  were  lost  in  a 
roaring  sheet  of  ruddy  flame  that  seemed 
to  come  from  all  sides  at  once  and  blot 
out  the  entire  world  and  the  very  sky  as 
it  towered  full-grown  in  what  could  have 
no  more  than  the  fraaion  of  a sec- 
ond. A blast  of  intolerable  heat,  fierce 
as  the  breath  of  a thousand  furnaces,  blew 
in  Jonas’  face  and  swept  him  backward 
like  a hurricane.  'The  mighty  roaring 
pounded  in  his  ears  like  a sea,  and  was 


J66 


WEIRD  TALES 


mingled  with  human  screams,  as  he  went 
down  into  pitch-black  gulfs  of  uncon- 
sciousness. 

IT  WAS  day  when  Jonas  awoke,  but  he 
was  too  confused  for  a few  instants  to 
realize  that  the  light  was  slanting  through 
the  tree-tops  from  a different  direction, 
or  that  there  was  more  of  it  than  seemed 
normal  in  an  evergreen  forest.  When 
his  wits  returned  sufficiently  to  permit 
the  comprdiension  of  the  faa  that  it  was 
morning,  he  began  to  notice  other  things 
that  were  equally  singular.  He  found 
that  he  was  lying  on  his  bade  among 
burnt  needles,  and  above  him  towered 
the  dark  boles  of  fire-swept  trees  with 
the  pitiful  stumps  of  their  cauterized 
branches.  Darkly,  indistinaly,  in  a sort 
of  dull  astonishment,  he  began  to  re- 
membd?  the  events  of  the  previous  day, 
his  return  at  sunset  to  the  cabin,  his 
glimpse  of  Matilda  and  the  two  children, 
and  the  all-engulfing  sheet  of  flame.  He 
looked  instinaively  at  his  clothes,  widi 
the  feeling  diat  he  must  have  been  badly 
burnt;  but  there  was  no  trace  of  fire  on 
his  raiment,  and  the  black  ashes  about 
him  were  cold.  Nor,  when  he  reared 
himself  on  his  elbow  and  peered  around, 
was  there  the  faintest  thread  of  smoke  to 
indicate  a recent  conflagration. 

He  arose  and  stepped  toward  the  place 
where  the  cabin  had  stood.  It  was  a heap 
of  ashes,  from  which  protruded  the  ends 
of  charred  beams. 

"My  God!”  muttered  Jonas.  He  felt 
utterly  dazed,  and  his  dboughts  refused  to 
aline  themselves,  failing  to  form  any  sort 
of  intelligible  order. 

As  Jonas  spoke,  a man  arose  from 
where  he  had  been  stooping  behind  the 


wreckage  of  the  cabin,  furtively  dropping 
some  objea  which  he  held  in  his  hands. 
Seeing  Jonas,  the  man  came  forward 
hastily.  He  was  a gaunt  individual  in 
dirty  overalls,  with  the  profile  and  the 
general  air  of  a somewhat  elderly  ruid 
dilapidated  buzzard.  Jonas  recognized 
him  as  Samuel  Slocum,  one  of  his  nei^- 
bors. 

"Wal,  Jonas  McGillicuddy,  so  you've 
come  back,"  explained  this  individual  in 
raucous  tones  of  unfeigned  surprize. 
"Ye’re  a little  too  late,  though,”  he  went 
on,  without  pausing  to  let  Jonas  speak. 
"Everythin'  burnt  up  clean,  four  days 
ago.” 

"But  the  cabin  wuz  here  las’  night,” 
stammered  Jonas.  "I  came  through  the 
woods  ’bout  sunset,  an’  I saw  Matilda  an' 
the  children  in  front  o’  the  steps,  jus’  as 
plain  as  I see  you.  Then  everythin' 
seemed  to  go  up  in  a burst  o'  flame,  an' 
I didn’t  know  nothin’  till  I woke  up  jus’ 
now.” 

"Ye’re  crazy,  Jonas,”  assured  the 
neighbor.  "There  weren’t  no  cabin  here 
las’  night,  an’  no  Matildy  an’  no  children, 
neither.  They  wuz  all  burnt  up,  along 
with  the  rest  o’  the  coimtery  hereabouts. 
We  heerd  yer  wife  an’  babies  a-screamin', 
but  the  fire  wuz  all  aroun’  before  ye 
could  say  Jack  Robinson,  an’  the  trees 
fell  across  yer  road,  an’  no  one  could  git 
in  an’  no  one  could  git  out.  ...  I alluz 
told  ye,  Jonas,  t’  cut  them  yeller  pines 
down. 

"My  folks  wuz  all  burnt  up.^”  faltered 
Jonas. 

"Wal,  yer  little  boy  died  a year  ago, 
so  they  wuz  jus'  Matildy  an’  die  two 
gals.” 


\The  Story  Thus  Far 

Landing  safely  on  the  planet  Mars  after  a voyuge 
from  Earth,  Professor  Hervy  and  his  -daushter 
Bath  send  Joseph  Kiser,  the  third  member  of  their 
party,  to  reconnoiter  the  Martian  city  which  lies 
across  the  canal.  Kiser  is  captured  by  Kabo,  a Mar^ 
tian  scientist,  who  transplants  Kiser’s  pineal  gland 
into  the  brain  of  a **jnarb’*,  one  of  a race  of  sub- 
men who  live  on  Mars,  laser’s  memory  is  thus 
transferred  to  the  body  of  a marb,  and  the  marb's 
intelligence  is  transferred  to  Kiser’s  body.  Professor 
Hervy  and  Ruth  are  hospitably  received  by  the  Mar- 
tians, who  know  nothing  of  i^bo’s  perfidy.  Nebond* 
the  marb  whose  intelligence  has  been  transplanted 
Into  Kiser’s  body,  abducts  Ruth  and  carri^  her  into 
the  forest  where  the  rest  of  the  marbs  live.  Kabo’s 
niece,  Delam  Oblene,  learns  of  Kabo’s  terrible  experi- 
ment, and  he  transplants  her  intelligence  into  the 
body  of  a f(unale  marb  to  prevent  her  informing 
the  Council  of  his  deed.  She  and  Kiser,  in  the  bodies 
of  tile  two  rnarl^.  are  then  marooned  on  Phobus,  one 
of^the  moons  of  Mars. 


''He  grasps 
before  noose  Imd 
tightened  upon  him.*’ 


13,  A Phobian  Tribunal 

The  realization  that  the  female 
math  marooned  with  him  upon 
the  desolate  Martian  satellite  was 


none  other  than  the  beautiful  Delam 
Oblene  and  that  on  his  account  she  had 
been  transformed  by  her  heartless  uncle 
into  a grotesque  beast  caused  Kiser  a dis- 
tinct thrill  of  apprehension  regarding  her 
probable  danger  at  the  hands  of  the  Res- 
cue-men— or  the  Phobians,  as  they  might 
more  properly  be  called. 

Where  had  she  found  shelter  from  the 
ravages  of  the  weather?  How  had  she 
avoided  the  very  apparent  wrath  of  the 
Phobians?  What  might  they  not  attempt 
to  do  to  her  now  that  she  had  been  the 
means  of  their  failure  in  their  attack 
upon  him? 


This  story  beran  In  WKIUD  TAliISS  tor  July 


387 


368 


WEIRD  TALES 


Kiser  opened  die  door  of  his  cabin  and 
strode  out  once  more,  intent  upon  find- 
ing Deiam  Oblene  and  attempting  to 
reach  some  understanding  with  her.  He 
must  assist  her  to  provide  a shelter  for 
herself,  and  it  had  best  be  near  his  own 
for  their  mutual  proteaion. 

The  rain  had  ceased  and  he  walked  at 
once  to  the  shore  of  the  lava  lake.  Here 
he  found  no  trace  of  her  whom  he 
sou^t,  although  he  walked  for  some  dis- 
tance back  and  forth  along  die  margin 
of  the  forest  calling  her  name. 

When  he  had  explored  as  far  as  he 
tbou^  she  mi^t  have  ventured  and 
was  on  the  verge  of  turning  bade  toward 
his  cabin,  he  heard  a slight  noise  above 
him  and  glanced  up  |ust  in  time  to  see 
one  of  the  Pht^ans  cast  a lariat  which 
sailed  with  unerring  precision  and  settled 
about  his  neck. 

Having  seen  k coming,  he  grasped  the 
rope  before  the  noose  had  tightened  upon 
him,  and  with  a quidt  pull,  which  took  his 
adversary  compl^y  by  surprize,  he  dis- 
lodged the  fellow  from  his  footing  in 
the  tree  and  stretched  him  sprawling  and 
wounded  upon  the  ground  near  by. 

There  was  a severe  cut  on  the  creature’s 
arm,  whidi  was  bleeding  profusely.  Kiser 
bound  it  with  strips  cut  from  his  own 
tunic,  as  the  Phobian’s  clothing  was  of 
skins  and  would  not  serve  his  purpose. 

This  task  was  performed  while  the 
wounded  Phobian  lay  helpless  but  quite 
conscious,  and  he  gazed  at  Kiser  without 
any  show  of  emotion  whatsoever. 

When  he  had  finished  bandaging  die 
wound,  Kiser  placed  the  Phobian  in  as 
comfortable  a position  as  possible,  added 
the  rope  to  his  eqtiipment,  and  went  back 
to  his  cabin  to  spend  a restless  night  of 
anxiety  regarding  Deiam  Oblene,  regret- 
ing  her  fearful  misfortune  inflicted  be- 
cause of  her  attempt  to  intercede  in  his 
behalf,  and  fearing  lest  she  might  suffer 
from  exposure  or  attack. 


He  pictured  the  horror  of  her  position, 
a refined,  beautiful  and  highly  intelleaual 
maiden  forced  to  occupy  the  physical 
body  of  a horrid  marb  whose  brain  was 
so  construaed  as  to  limit  her  mental  ac- 
tivity. She  could  not  communicate  with 
her  friends  by  means  of  telepathy  be- 
cause the  brain-mechanism  by  means  of 
whidi  that  wonderful  feat  was  accom- 
plished by  the  Martians  was  ladting  in 
the  marb;  neither  could  she  remember 
her  previous  incarnations,  except  prob- 
ably such  experiences  as  she  might  have 
happened  to  discuss  during  her  existence 
as  a Martian. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  renewed  his 
quest  and  again  he  failed  to  find  any 
trace  of  her  near  the  lava  lake.  He  called 
her  name  often  and  loudly  but  to  no 
avail. 

He  berated  himself  for  not  having 
guessed  her  identity  from  the  first.  She 
had  as  good  as  told  him  that  she  was 
Deiam  Oblene  and  yet  for  many  days  he 
had  been  blinded  to  the  truth. 

Kiser  had  ventured  some  distance  into 
the  forest  and  for  some  time  he  had 
not  called  out.  Suddenly  he  heard 
voices;  he  stopped  to  listen.  There  could 
be  no  mistal^  k was  the  jumbled  and 
distant  sound  of  conversation. 

He  drew  cautiously  nearer  until  he 
came  upon  the  opening  of  a cave.  This 
opening  was  guarded  by  one  of  the  Pho- 
bians  who  appeared  to  have  been  placed 
there  as  a sentinel,  and  he  dared  not  ap- 
proach too  near. 

Crouching  bdiind  the  verdure  in  an 
effort  to  see  and  yet  remain  unseen,  he 
suddenly  felt  a paroxysm  of  severe  pain 
in  his  hand,  which  almost  caused  him  to 
cry  out.  Upon  investigation  he  found 
that  he  had  touched  another  of  the  nu- 
merous "nettle  trees”  sudi  as  the  one  he 
had  encountered  upon  that  first  day  upon 
the  satellite.  This  one  was  much  larger, 

W.T,— 5 


EARTHWOmS  OF  KARMA 


369 


however,  and  was  loaded  with  large  yel- 
low fruit  resembling  the  tomato.  This 
was  the  terrible  "tear  gas  fruit”  with 
which  the  Phobians  had  meant  to  sere- 
nade him  in  his  cabin! 

He  plucked  several  of  these  "tear-gas 
tomatoes,"  as  he  chose  to  name  them, 
and  placed  them  in  a near-by  spot  for  his 
own  convenience  in  case  he  might  need 
them. 

Presently  another  of  the  Phobians 
came  to  the  opening  of  the  cave  and  held 
a brief  conversation  with  the  sentinel. 
He  spoke  in  a commanding  tone  and 
pointed  in  the  direaion  of  the  lava  lake. 
Evidently  he  was  one  in  authority,  for  the 
sentinel  at  once  set  out  in  the  direction 
indicated  and  the  other  disappeared  in- 
side the  cave. 

The  rendezvous  of  the  Phobians  was 
left  unguarded;  should  he  attempt  to  go 
doser?  He  did  not  know  when  the  for- 
mer sentinel  might  return  nor  that  an- 
other might  not  be  sent  from  within  to 
replace  him,  but  after  some  moments  his 
curiosity  overcame  his  caution,  and  filling 
his  pockets  with  tear  tomatoes,  he  aept 
forward  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave  and 
stepped  inside. 

TTiere  was  a high  narrow  tunnel  ex- 
tending back  some  ten  feet,  where  it 
opened  into  a large  amphitheater  with 
many  ledges  or  seats  rising  in  terrace 
fashion  from  the  center  toward  all  four 
sides.  These  seats  appeared  to  have 
been  hewn  out  of  solid  stone;  they  were 
about  twenty  inches  wide,  each  being 
some  two  feet  above  the  next  one  in 
front,  with  gradually  sloping  aisles  ap- 
proaching each  of  the  four  corners,  the 
widest  narrowing  into  the  exit  in  which 
he  stood,  and  upon  these  seats  were  about 
forty  of  the  savage  Phobians  conduaing 
what  appeared  to  be  some  form  of 
tribunal. 

The  amphitheater  was  well  lighted  by 

means  of  great  luminous  balls  of  some 
W.T.— 6 


phosphorescent  substance  suspended  from 
overhead;  and  seated  in  the  ten-foot 
square  of  level  floor  in  the  center  of  tlie 
chamber,  her  hands  securely  bound  and 
a blind  placed  about  her  eyes,  was  the 
grotesque  marb  which  he  now  felt  so  cer- 
tain was  Delam  Oblene,  while  at  either 
side  of  her  stood  one  of  the  gross  Phobians 
and  each  was  talking  in  loud,  quarrelsome 
tones.  They  gesticulated  and  pounded 
themselves  on  their  chests  until  the  en- 
closed amphitheater  fairly  reverberated 
with  the  echo.  They  were  undoubtedly 
engaged  in  a heated  argument,  though 
what  the  point  of  contention  was  Kiser 
could  not  guess.  They  both  talked  at 
once,  and  yet,  somehow,  their  listeners 
appeared  to  have  no  difiiculty  on  this  ac- 
count and  they  seemed  to  understand. 

At  sight  of  Delam  Oblene’s  plight  a 
cold  rage  filled  Kiser’s  heart.  He  clutched 
the  largest  of  the  tear  tomatoes  and,  for- 
getful of  its  probable  effect  upon  Delam 
Oblene,  threw  it  with  all  his  strength, 
dashing  it  to  fragments  upon  the  face  of 
one  of  the  orators.  Then  before  any- 
one knew  what  had  happened  he  dealt 
the  other  a like  blow  upon  his  chest. 

There  was  a howl  of  pain  from  both 
victims  of  his  marksmanship  and  both 
went  down  with  hands  to  eyes,  while  oth- 
ers scampered  back  in  an  effort  to  escape 
the  pungent  fumes  which  were  now  per- 
meating the  air. 

Now  thoroughly  aroused  to  aaion, 
Kiser  dashed  another  of  the  miniature 
gas  bombs  into  the  face  of  still  another 
of  the  creatures  who  had  gained  the  en- 
trance to  the  tutmel  and  sent  him  screech- 
ing back  into  the  arms  of  those  behind 
him. 

The  din  inside  the  amphitheater  now 
became  an  uproar  of  screaming,  cough- 
ing and  the  shuffling  of  many  feet,  for 
the  Phobians  wore  heavy  wooden  shoes. 
Not  wishing  to  injure  the  marb  whom  he 
sought  to  rescue,  Kiser  now  withheld  his 


370 


WEIRD  TALES 


rain  of  vegetable  gas  bombs  but  stood 
threateningly  guarding  the  entrance  of 
the  cave. 

But  Kiser  had  reckoned  without  con- 
sideration for  the  skill  of  the  Phobians 
with  the  lariat,  and  even  in  the  narrow 
confines  of  the  tunnel  he  soon  found 
himself  neatly  lassoed.  He  was  dragged 
forward  into  the  gas-filled  chamber, 
where  he  was  thrown  rudely  to  the  floor 
and  securely  bound. 

As  he  entered  the  amphitheater  the  ir- 
ritating gas  from  his  bombardment  filled 
his  eyes  and  nostrils  and  he  strangled 
and  went  temporarily  blind,  but  not  be- 
fore he  had  seen  that  all  the  Phobians 
remaining  in  the  chamber  wore  a rude 
appliance  over  their  faces  and  that  the 
huge  marb  whom  he  believed  to  be  Delam 
Oblene  lay  in  the  center  of  the  amphi- 
theater apparently  unconscious.  The 
Phobians  had  hurriedly  procured  their 
gas  masks,  donned  them,  and  were  pro- 
teaed  from  his  attack — ^the  only  ones  he 
had  injured  were  the  three  whom  he 
struck  and  Delam  Oblene,  if  indeed  this 
animal  were  she. 

Kiser  suffered  imtold  agonies  before  he 
was  again  able  to  open  his  eyes,  and  then, 
as  he  glanced  about  him,  he  saw  several 
of  the  Phobians  spraying  some  sort  of 
fluid  into  the  atmosphere  of  the  room, 
presumably  to  "annul  the  effeas  of  the 
tear  fruit.  The  other  marb  was  begin- 
ning to  awake  and  several  of  the  Pho- 
bians had  removed  their  gas  masks.  The 
three  whom  he  had  injured  had  appar- 
ently been  carried  out,  for  they  were  no- 
where to  be  seen,  but  the  others  began 
to  gather  about  them  when  it  was  seen 
that  they  were  fully  conscious. 

Just  what  was  going  to  happen  to 
them — or  at  any  rate  to  Kiser — ^there 
could  be  but  little  doubt,  for  these  strange 
creatures  began  to  clamor  for  vengeance 
and  many  of  them  had  imsheathed  their 
knives  while  he  lay  boimd  and  quite  help- 


less. And  had  it  not  been  so  it  could 
have  made  but  little  difference;  for  when 
he  felt  the  strength  of  the  creature  who 
had  so  easily  tossed  him  upon  the  floor 
he  knew  that,  even  had  he  had  his  Earth- 
ly sinews,  he  would  have  been  no  match 
for  one  of  these  Phobians. 

As  the  howling  crowd  grew  closer  and 
more  clamorous  the  same  Phobian  whom 
Kiser  had  encountered  upon  the  margin 
of  the  lava  lake  stepped  into  the  amphi- 
theater. Instantly  all  noise  was  hushed 
and  each  of  the  savage  creatures  stepped 
back  with  an  air  of  deference. 

He  walked  with  a slight  limp  and  he 
still  wore  the  dressing  which  ffiser  had 
placed  upon  his  arm.  When  this  crea- 
ture unsheathed  his  long  knife  Kiser 
thought  surely  that  his  time  to  die  had 
come  indeed,  but  the  Phobian  stooped, 
cut  the  rope  which  bound  Kiser’s  hands 
and  feet,  and  assisted  him  to  his  feet! 

'The  other  marb  was  dealt  with  in  like 
manner  and  the  two  were  then  conduaed 
to  the  exit  of  the  cave  and  released,  ap- 
parently with  the  assurance  that  they 
would  not  be  further  molested. 

Whatever  else  might  be  said  of  the 
Phobians  it  was  certain  that  this  one,  who 
appeared  to  be,  one  in  authority,  was  not 
without  gratitude  and  appreciation. 

By  means  of  gestures  and  much  argu- 
ment Kiser  prevailed  upon  the  huge  marb 
to  start  the  erection  of  a cabin  like  his 
own  a few  paces  from  it. 

14.  Pilluth  Learns 

Both  Anhui  Pilluth  and  Frambrozo 
Himnun  had  been  suitors  for  the 
hand  of  Delam  Oblene,  but,  being  a 
highly  skilled  microscopist  and  having 
mapped  out  a career  for  herself,  she  had 
rejeaed  both  and  given  her  undivided  at- 
tention to  her  work. 

Pilluth  had  spent  three  years,  since  his 
graduation  from  the  university,  as  Kabo’s 


EARTHWORMS  OF  KARMA 


571 


assistant,  and  this  training  had  developed 
him  into  a worthy  scientist  and  entitled 
him  to  a commission  from  the  Council 
for  the  asking.  Yet  he  had  not  meant 
to  mdce  application  for  a commission  had 
Kabo’s  niece  not  suddenly  left  Keto.  Or, 
at  any  rate,  Pilluth  was  informed  that  she 
had  been  permanently  removed  to  Norb 
during  one  of  his  short  vacations. 

'This  caused  the  younger  man  to  alter 
his  plans  and  he  at  once  made  applica- 
tion for  a commission,  and  on  the  very 
day  that  he  received  it  came  the  news  of 
Delam  Oblene’s  death  and  the  arrival  of 
her  ashes  from  Norb. 

As  cremation  was  compulsory  and 
must  be  done  before  a corpse  may  be 
shipped,  no  one  questioned  the  identity 
of  the  ashes  in  the  urn  and  both  of  the 
lovers  mourned  Delam  Oblene  as  lost 
without  entertaining  the  remotest  idea 
diat  there  might  have  been  foul  play. 

True,  both  Pilluth  and  Himnun  had 
attempted  to  communicate  with  her  after 
her  departure  from  Keto  and  had  been 
unable  to  do  so.  'This  was  very  perplex- 
ing and  they  wondered,  but  neither  made 
any  effort  to  investigate;  and  when  the 
news  of  her  death  was  received  both  si- 
lently conceded  that  she  was  probably  ill 
and  the  seeming  discrepancy  was  all  but 
forgotten. 

Pilluth  had  made  arrangements  to  open 
a laboratory  of  his  own  under  his  com- 
mission but  deferred  his  arrangements  to 
move  until  after  the  interment,  and  on 
the  heels  of  this  incident  came  Ndjond’s 
escape  from  his  hovel  and  the  consequent 
report  that  the  missing  man  had  been  dis- 
covered and  lost  again,  which  served  to 
remind  Pilluth  of  the  f&urful  injustice 
whidi  had  been  done  and  sent  him  to  visit 
Kabo.  After  having  expressed  his  grati- 
tude and  appreciation  for  the  guidance 
and  advice  he  had  received  at  the  hands 
of  the  older  man  he  said,  "Regarding  this 
Earthman  whom  we  so  grossly  wronged. 


is  there  not  some  means  by  vdiich  we 
mi^t  restore  him.>  'That  is  a thing  1 do 
not  wish  to  weigh  upon  my  conscience; 
let  us  extraa  a promise  from  him  that 
he  will  not  reved  our  duplicity  and  re- 
store him  to  his  rightful  body.  He 
would  most  certainly  be  more  than  will- 
ing to  bargain  for  restoration." 

“That,  my  friend  is  impossible.  You 
have  no  conception  of  die  malice  borne 
us  by  that  degenerate.  Restored  to  his 
Earth-body  wirfi  its  enormous  strength 
he  would  wreak  upon  us  the  most  terrible 
vengeance  his  puny  mejtitality  could  con- 
ceive. No,  I regret  the  incident  as  much 
as  you  but  it  can  not  be  adjusted  now." 

"But  do  you  not  diink  he  would  bar- 
gain with  us  for  his  release?  He  must 
realize  by  now  how  helpless  he  is.” 

"Bargain  indeed!  Yes,  he  would  bar- 
gain with  us!  And  what  means  the 
promise  of  an  Earthling?” 

"You  are  unduly  embittered  against 
everything  pertaining  to  the  Earth.  Re- 
member that  you  and  I are  but  a single 
step  in  evolution  above  the  Earthlings. 
But  a comparatively  short  time  ago  you 
yourself  were  an  Earthling,  and  1 dare 
say  less  well  develo^d  dian  this  one;  if 
I am  any  judge  this  Earthman  can  be 
trusted.” 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  Pilluth,  but  there 
is  much  that  you  forget.  TTiere  are  no 
Earthlings  that  may  be  trusted.  Is  it  not 
their  untrustworthiness  that  plunges  them 
into  the  throes  of  misery?  Look  at  their 
greed!  Loook  at  their  deceit!  Look  at 
their  sensuality!  Why,  a man  devoid  of 
these  traits  of  charaaer  could  not  live 
half  a year  upon  the  Earth!  During  my 
own  Earth  life  I was  the  same  as  the 
others;  I was  taught  these  cursed  traits 
of  charaaer  from  infancy  to  my  so-called 
death,  and  I cheated,  lied,  swindled,  and 
hated  as  the  Earthlings  must  ever  do. 
No,  his  word  could  not  be  trusted.  We 
have  him  in  our  power  now  and  we  must 


372 


WEIRD  TALES 


keep  him  so.  Had  you  understood  Eng- 
lish and  heard  the  vindiaive  threats  he 
made  against  us  the  day  we  visited  him 
in  his  bed  you  would  not  be  so  generously 
inclined.  The  men  of  Earth  live  only 
for  greed,  and  vengeance.” 

"But,  sir,  on  Masovada  we  presume  to 
have  no  such  traits;  here  none  are  so  vile 
save  you  and  me — for  are  we  not  deceiv- 
ing the  Coimcil  of  Masovada?  Are  we 
not  cowards,  that  we  hide  behind  this 
poor  unfortunate’s  misfortune  to  save 
ourselves  from  the  wrath  of  our  fellow 
men?  Was  it  not  greed  for  scientific 
knowledge  that  prompted  us  to  commit 
this  crime  in  the  first  place?” 

"Alas,  Pilluth,  you  speak  truly  and 
well.  All  of  these  facts  I have  pondered 
in  remorse  of  soul;  in  agony  of  soul  I 
sorrow  that  this  thing  has  gone  beyond 
the  possibility  of  reparation,  but  it  is  so. 
It  is  all  honor  to  you,  Pilluth,  that  you 
wish  to  right  this  wrong,  but  it  can  not 
be.'  To  restore  these  two  would  be  our 
ruin — ^my  death,  and  disgrace  for  you 
forever!” 

"Why  do  you  say  these  two?”  Pilluth 
was  gazing  into  the  other’s  eyes  as  if  to 
read  his  innermost  thoughts. 

"Nebond  has  been  wronged  equally 
with  the  Earthling,”  quickly  responded 
Kabo,  his  face  going  deadly  pale.  How 
much  had  Pilluth  read  of  that  which  had 
involuntarily  flashed  into  his  mind? 

Without  further  argument  the  young 
man  took  leave  of  his  preceptor  and  went 
to  his  room  to  pack  his  belongings  pre- 
paratory to  going  away.  When  he  had 
finished  this  task,  something  prompted 
him  to  take  one  last  look  ^out  the 
grounds.  He  was  not  satisfied  with 
Kabo’s  answer  to  his  request  that  the 
Earthling  be  restored,  and  he  desired  to 
see  once  more  the  horrible  result  of  the 
double  operation;  so  he  strolled  alone 
about  the  enclosure  reviewing  the  results 
of  various  experiments  and  making  some 


notes  regarding  each. 

He  visited  the  hovel  where  Nebond 
was  confined,  but  nowhere  could  he  find 
the  marb  bearing  the  personality  of 
Joseph  Kiser.  He  searched  the  entire 
garden  until  no  portion  remained  save 
the  isolated  hovel  where  Kabo  had  con- 
duaed  his  private  laboratory  and  whither 
all  others  were  forbidden  to  go. 

Pilluth  hesitated  to  approach  this  build- 
ing for  two  reasons:  first,  he  had  always 
respeaed  Kabo’s  wishes  in  this  respea 
and  was  inclined  to  do  so  now;  and  sec- 
ond, he  feared  that  Kabo  might  see  him. 
The  remembrance  of  the  look  on  Kabo’s 
face,  however,  when  he  had  made  what 
Pilluth  was  sure  was  an  imintentional  re- 
mark, spurred  him  on  and  he  determined 
to  investigate  and,  if  the  Earthman  could 
speak  German,  to  have  a talk  with  him. 
Too,  he  felt  that  he  had  a right  at  least 
to  converse  with  the  Earthling  if  it  were 
possible  to  do  so;  for  was  he  not  equally 
guilty  of  the  crime?  Kabo  had  been  be- 
trayed while  he  had  lived  upon  the  Earth, 
and  he  was  unduly  and  unjustly  embit- 
tered against  the  Earth  and  its  inhab- 
itants. Pilluth  wanted  to  Isam  what 
terms  the  Earthman  would  agree  to. 

Reaching  the  door  of  the  small  build- 
ing, he  knocked.  For  a moment  there 
was  no  response,  and  he  knocked  a sec- 
ond time.  From  within  came  a queru- 
lous protest  in  the  accents  of  a marb,  but 
the  pitch  of  the  voice  was  that  of  a hu- 
man being,  and  a Martian  female  at  that! 
"Why  do  you  come  knocking?  It  is  not 
yet  time  for  my  food,  and  if  it  were  why 
do  you  not  fetch  it  to  the  slot  instead  of 
disturbing  my  sleep  at  this  hour?  Go 
away.  I do  not  want  the  food  you  fetch 
me  anyhow;  you  refuse  me  the  herbs  and 
worms  I desire  and  force  upon  me  your 
own  rotten  food.  Why  don’t  you  bring 
me  the  kind  of  food  I want?  If  you 
would  please  me,  fetch  worms  — fetch 
worms!” 


EARTHWORMS  OF  KARMA 


373 


For  a moment  Pilluth  stood  as  if 
stunned.  What  Martian  woman  had 
Kabo  performed  his  terrible  experiment 
upon?  He  knew  this  was  not  Kiser,  for 
this  creature  had  spoken  the  Martian  lan- 
guage; and  again,  the  voice  had  been 
unmistakably  feminine.  What  could  the 
answer  be?  Nebond  he  had  seen  already! 

Pilluth  got  a large  stone,  hastily  broke 
the  lock  on  the  door,  and,  forgetful  of 
any  danger  to  himself,  swung  the  heavy 
portal  wide.  One  look  inside  and  he  ut- 
tered a cry  of  horrified  amazement;  for, 
slouched  ungracefully  upon  a crude  bed 
at  the  opposite  side  of  the  small  room, 
lay  Delam  Oblene! 

Blinking  at  the  unaccustomed  light 
which  had  suddenly  flooded  her  dismal 
chamber,  she  stared  at  the  astonished 
Pilluth  without  the  slightest  sign  of 
recognition;  although  she  was  more  than 
half  naked  there  was  no  sign  of  confu- 
sion in  her  manner,  nothing  of  intelli- 
gence in  her  eye.  At  length,  as  he  con- 
tinued to  stare  at  her  in  utter  amazement, 
she  bared  her  teeth  and  growled! 

At  this  Pilluth  recoiled  as  from  a blow 
in  the  face;  then  with  arms  outstretched 
he  stepped  toward  her.  "My  darling! 
Kabo  told  me  you  were  dead — ^what — 
what — don’t  you  know  me,  Delam  Ob- 
lene?’’ He  attempted  to  take  her  hand  and 
she  snatched  it  away;  then  with  a vicious 
snarl  she  bent  forward  and  her  teeth 
snapped  together  with  great  force,  barely 
missing  his  outstretched  hand  as  he  re- 
coiled with  horror  against  the  half-open 
door. 

"How — ^how  can  you  aa  like  that? 
Don’t  you  know  me,  Delam  Oblene?’’ 

"That  is  not  my  name!  I am  Juak. 
Now  r am  going  to  nm  amuck!  I shall 
kill  you  if  you  do  not  stand  aside!’’ 

"No,  you  are  not  Juak!  You  are  mad! 
Of  course  you  are  not  Juak;  you  are  De- 
lam Oblene,  and  you  can  not  kill  me 
because  I am  stronger  than  you.  Why  has 


Kabo  imprisoned  you  here  until  he  has 
undermined  your  reason?  Come,  pull 
yourself  together  now  and  think!’’ 

"I  tell  you  I am  Juak!  I am  going  to 
run  amuck  now!  I will — ^will — no,  no, 
it’s  no  use!  I have  lost  all  my  strength! 
Kabo  has  changed  me  into  a weak  thing 
that  can  not  even  have  an  occasional 
amuck.  Look  at  my  arms!  White!  And 
so  small!  What  are  they  good  for?  Look 
at  my  legs!’’  She  displayed  unblushingly 
a very  shapely  pair  of  limbs.  "They  are 
too  long  and  too  small  and  too  white! 
My  body  looks  as  though  it  had  been 
shaved!  Kabo  has  spoiled  me,  and  if  I 
only  had  the  strength  to  run  amuck  I 
would  kill  you  first  and  then  kill  Kabo." 

In  his  surprize  at  seeing  Delam  Ob- 
lene, Pilluth  had  forgotten  for  the 
moment  about  Kabo  and  his  soul-trans- 
ference; now  he  remembered  and  sud- 
denly the  realization  of  the  terrible  truth 
came  to  him:  Kabo  had  performed  his 
hideous  operation  upon  Delam  Oblene 
and  had  thus  transferred  her  mentality  to 
the  body  of  a marb!  This  creature  with 
which  he  was  conversing  was  Juak,  a 
female  marb  which  had  possession  of 
Delam  Oblene’s  body! 

His  feeling  as  this  realization  came  to 
him  was,  at  first,  a sense  of  dreadful  sick- 
ening horror;  his  hands  shook,  his  lips 
trembled,  and  something  seemed  to  rise 
up  in  his  throat  as  if  to  choke  him.  This 
feeling  rapidly  gave  way  to  intense  anger 
toward  the  heartless  perpetrator  of  the 
infamous  deed.  For  this  outrage  Kabo 
must  be  punished — swiftly,  surely,  and 
terribly.  He  must  be  made  to  suffer  even 
as  Delam  Oblene  had  suffered  — but 
where  was  the  real  Delam  Oblene? 

"My  God!”  wailed  Pilluth.  "The 
heartless,  infamous,  damnable  brute!  I 
had  not  dreamed  that  anyone  could  be  so 
base!  Never  before  in  all  my  Masovadan 
experience  have  I undertaken  to  avenge 
myself  upon  any  living  creature,  but  this 


374 


WEIRD  TALES 


is  too  much!  He  shall  t>a7!  Bjr  God,  he 
shall  pay!" 

Juak  was  watching  him  with  amuse- 
ment. "You  will  run  amuck?”  she  asked 
with  delight.  "You  will  kill  Kabo?” 

Anhui  Pilluth  looked  pityingly  at  the 
cteature  and  a great  sob  rose  in  his 
throat.  The  superb  form,  the  delicate 
pink  skin  was  that  of  the  maiden  he  had 
loved,  but  from  her  eye  now  shone  only 
the  intelligence  of  JusJc  the  filthy  female 
marb!  His  hurt  was  too  great  to  express 
in  words,  so  he  did  not  speak,  but  just 
stared  at  her  in  mute,  dumfounded  an- 
guish. His  feelings  mingled  tenderness, 
pity,  and  horror  for  this  creature  who  was 
and  yet  who  was  not  Delam  Oblene  and 
an  intense  resentment  toward  Kabo  who 
was  the  author  of  her  present  predic- 
ament. His  thoughts  flew  back  to  the 
Delam  Oblene  he  had  known  as  he  con- 
tinued to  state  at  this  creature  before  him 
and  widi  the  refinement,  the  maidenly 
modesty,  and  the  simple  sweemess  of  the 
one  compared  the  lowly,  sloven,  unkempt 
baseness  of  the  other,  and  his  blood 
seemed  to  freeze  within  him  as  he  re- 
called her  words:  "Worms!  Worms, 
fetch  worms!” 

It  was  a thoroughly  aroused  Pilluth 
who  strode  out  of  Juak’s  shanty,  repaired 
the  broken  lock,  and  fastened  the  door. 
He  could  as  yet  formulate  no  definite 
plan  of  action,  however,  for  he  had  no 
idea  where  Kabo  had  hidden  the  other 
two  victims  of  his  perfidy  — die  marb 
forms  of  Delam  Oblene  and  Joseph 
Kiser.  His  first  thought  was  to  rush  at 
once  to  Kabo  and  demand  an  explana- 
tion, but,  on  second  thought,  he  rejeaed 
this  plan;  for  he  reasoned  that  such  a 
course  of  aaion  would  only  serve  to 
warn  Kabo  that  his  crime  against  his 
niece  had  been  discovered  and  thus  put 
him  on  his  guard  and  perhaps  stimulate 
him  to  further  attempt  at  crime.  He 
would  demand  an  explanation  of  Kabo 


only  as  a last  resort  to  find  the  impristmed 
souls  of  Delam  Oblene  and  the  Earthman. 

14.  Beck  Protests 

SINCE  there  were  none  in  the  tribe  who 
might  mate  with  Beck  and  since  Beck 
was  too  old  to  forage  successfully  in  other 
tribes  for  a mate  and  lacked  the  courage 
to  protest  with  the  conquerer  of  the 
mighty  Pleck  for  having  purloined  Pike, 
this  surly  marb  looked  with  favor  upon 
Ruth.  Of  course  Beck  knew  that  she  had 
none  of  the  charm  and  rare  beauty  so 
manifest  in  his  lost  Pike,  but  even  such  a 
hollow-eyed,  pink-skinned  female  as  she 
would  probably  be  better  than  no  mate 
at  all;  for,  to  be  sure,  someone  must  pro- 
vide his  food  for  him.  Beck  was  proud 
and  he  knew  the  other  marbs  would  taunt 
and  tease,  but  also  he  had  a vigorous  ap- 
petite and  he  was  very  lazy;  rather  than 
forage  for  himself  he  must  put  his  pride 
aside,  for  would  they  not  taunt  anyhow 
should  he  start  providing  for  himself? 

He  approached  Ruth  with  his  most 
affeaionate  growl,  which  was  also  his 
most  commanding,  for  he  was  not  aware 
of  her  participation  in  the  fight  with 
Pleck.  "Come  to  me,  you  imp  of  perdi- 
tion!” he  said  affectionately.  "You  are 
not  much  to  look  upon,  but  if  you  pro- 
vide for  me  well  perhaps  I shall  not  beat 
you  except  when  I run  amuck.” 

When  Ruth  drew  back  he  growled 
even  more  fiercely.  "Do  not  anger  me 
further!”  he  roared.  "Is  it  not  enough 
that  I must  accept  you  at  all?  Come!” 

But  she  did  not  come,  and  Bede  began 
to  foam  at  the  mouth,  while  the  tribe 
crowded  about  to  see  the  fun.  And  the 
pending  encounter  promised  to  be  very 
interesting,  too,  for  had  not  this  strange 
female  all  but  bested  Pledc?  But  the 
slothful  Beck  did  not  know  this. 

Ruth  had  backed  away  from  him  and 
stood  trembling,  although  she  must  have 


EARTHWORMS  OF  KARMA 


375 


known  that  she  possessed  far  greater 
physical  strength  than  the  best  of  them, 
while  Nebond  stood  regarding  them  with 
the  air  of  a disinterested  onlooker. 

The  beast  was  greatly  surprized  and 
angered  when  Ruth  evaded  his  first 
charge  and  gave  him  a shove  which  sent 
him  staggering  many  steps  backward 
while  the  other  marbs  taunted  him  with 
delight. 

He  charged  at  her  again  and  with  re- 
newed fury,  but  when  his  long  arm  shot 
toward  her  she  lightly  stepped  aside,  and 
seizing  his  arm  with  both  her  hands,  she 
deftly  attempted  to  bend  it  the  wrong 
way — as  she  had  seen  Kiser  do  upon  that 
memorable  day  of  their  landing. 

Beck  uttered  a hoarse  scream  of  an- 
guish and  drew  back,  nursing  the 
wounded  member  and  glaring  at  Ruth 
with  intense  hatred.  The  marbs  tavmted 
him  with  frantic  glee,  dancing  and  hop- 
ping about  in  their  delight  with  shrill 
sounds  which  very  nearly  approximated 
laughter,  but  Bede  had  had  enough  of 
the  affray;  so  he  slunk  away  into  the  for- 
est muttering  and  grimacing  in  his  rage 
and  discomfiture. 

Nor  did  he  stop  at  the  canal  shore. 
He  plunged  into  the  water  and  swam 
across  into  the  dty  of  Keto.  There  he 
hailed  the  first  Martian  he  saw  and  re- 
quested that  he  communicate  with  the 
chief  of  the  Coimdl  in  behalf  of  the  im- 
fortimate  tribe  of  marbs  who  had  been 
invaded  by  a strange  being  with  sunken 
eyes  and  such  savage  strength  that  many 
of  them  had  been  killed  and  the  others 
subjeaed  to  much  oppression. 

From  Beck’s  account  of  the  situation  it 
was  at  once  recognized  that  the  mad 
Earthman  was  among  them,  and  Fram- 
brozo  Himnun  was  notified. 

Very  soon  Himnun,  Professor  Hervy 
and  Unel  Kabo  were  on  the  scene,  and 
after  questioning  the  marb  at  some  length 
the  three  armed  themselves  with  a Stro- 


tan  Ray  machine  and  kandiked  to  the 
habitat  of  Fleck’s — or  rather,  Nebond’s 
tribe. 

Here  they  found  the  marbs  loimging 
about  in  the  sunshine,  seemingly  quite 
well  content  with  the  new  order  of  things. 
The  dead  had  been  disposed  of  by  being 
thrown  into  a deep  crevice,  and  none 
appeared  to  resent  the  intrusion  into  their 
midst  of  a creature  of  strange  form  who 
had  wrought  such  havoc  among  them  but 
a few  hours  before. 

Nebond  lolled  among  them  as  lazy,  as 
dirty,  and  quite  as  loathsome  with  his  un- 
washed, blood-stained  Hands  as  were  the 
others,  but  Ruth  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

As  the  kandike  landed  near  them,  Ne- 
bond arose  and  approached  them.  When 
he  had  drawn  quite  near  he  stopped  and 
began  pounding  his  chest  with  his  fists. 

Kabo’s  face  went  dead  white  when  this 
creature  addressed  them  in  the  Martian 
tongue:  "I  am  Nebond  and  Nebond  does 
not  fear  the  Masovadans.  If  you  attempt 
to  take  Nebond  back  into  captivity  Ne- 
bond will  kill  all  of  you!  Nebond  is 
very  strong;  far  stronger  than  any  other 
marb  that  ever  lived,  and  you  had  best 
leave  Nebond  alone!  Go  now,  before  I 
nm  amuck  and  kill  the  three  of  you! 
Nebond  and  his  tribe  will  suffer  no  in- 
terference from  the  Masovadan  Council!” 

Without  further  ado  Kabo  brought  the 
Strotan  Ray  machine  into  play  and  Ne- 
bond fell  limp  and  inert  to  the  ground 
even  as  he  started  to  charge  them  in  the 
frightful  amuck  of  a Martian  marb. 

"The  Earthman  has  been  among  the 
marbs  all  the  while;  I wonder  why  they 
have  not  reported  his  presence,”  said 
Kabo  as  he  approached  the  slowly  re- 
treating colony  of  marbs. 

"Where  is  the  girl  he  brought  into  the 
forest  with  him?”  asked  Himnun  of  one 
of  the  beasts  who  had  not  bolted  into  the 
forest  when  Nebond  fell. 

"She  left  the  tribe  as  soon  as  she  had 


376 


WEIRD  TALES 


bested  Beck,"  replied  the  marb.  "She 
went  in  that  direaion” — ^he  pointed  east, 
then  nodded  toward  the  inert  form  of 
Nebond — "and  he  forbade  any  of  us  to 
follow  her.  He  said  she  was  a dangerous 
she  and  had  best  be  allowed  to  go  where 
she  chose.” 

"Has  this  creature  been  with  you  be- 
fore?” asked  Himnun. 

"We  never  saw  him  nor  his  like  before 
today.  He  came  to  us  claiming  that  he 
was  Nebond  who  was  taken  into  captiv- 
ity many  many  small-moons  ago  for  hav- 
ing run  amuck  and  injured  a Masovadan; 
but  he  is  not  Nebond — he  is  not  even  a 
marb,  as  you  can  see.  But  fight!  You 
should  have  seen  him  slay  Fleck  and  Zib 
and  Liko  and  Ube  and  the  others  of 
Fleck’s  family!  It  was  very  amusing!” 

"Undoubtedly  you  enjoyed  it  im- 
mensely, but  now  we  must  find  the  girl. 
Who  is  the  leader  of  this  tribe  now?” 

"Who  else.  Honorable  Councilor,  but 
Lune?  Lune  is  the  greatest  of  all  the 
marbs  and,  had  this  misshapen  creature 
not  appeared  I should  have  killed  Fledc 
myself  before  another  small-moon  had 
passed.  I,  Lune,  am  now  king  of  the 
marbs.” 

"Nay!”  roared  another  of  the  beasts 
who  stood  listening;  "Lune  is  a fool!  It 
is  I,  Bike,  who  shall  be  king  of  the  marbs; 
if  it  becomes  necessary  I shall  kill  Lune, 
for  he  shall  not  stand  between  me  and  my 
right!” 

"Away  into  the  forest  and  find  the 
girl!”  commanded  Himnun.  '"rhe  marb 
who  finds  her  shall  be  king  of  the  others 
and  the  Council  shall  stand  with  him  for 
six  small-moons;  if  he  can  not  maintain 
his  authority  after  that,  why,  then  he 
must  fall.  Now  go.” 

The  remaining  marbs  scurried  away  in 
search  of  Ruth,  and  they  sought  in  a way 
known  only  to  the  animals  of  lower  order. 

Himnun  and  Frofessor  Hervy  re- 
mained on  the  scene  to  await  the  results 


of  the  quest  while  Kabo  kandiked  the  in- 
ert form  of  Nebond  back  to  captivity. 

Even  before  Kabo  returned  for  them 
the  ambitious  Lune  returned  triumphant, 
with  Ruth  walking  a few  paces  behind 
him,  and  when  she  saw  them  she  hurried 
forward  and  flung  herself  sobbing  upon 
her  father’s  breast. 

"Oh,  Dad!  This  has  been  such  a hor- 
rible experience!  Dad,  I aaually  had  to 
fight  them  with  my  hands — and  Joseph 
is  so  terrible!” 

"It  is  all  right  now,  my  dear,”  soothed 
her  father;  "we  have  found  you  and 
Joseph  is  in  the  skilled  hands  of  Dr. 
Kabo.” 

"No,  no.  Dad;  I fear  that  he  will  never 
recover.  Oh,  if  you  had  seen  the  terrible 
things  he  did  you  would  realize  tliat  re- 
covery for  him  is  impossible.  He  is  a 
beast!  And  he  doesn’t  appear  to  have  any 
human  characteristics  left  at  all!  Dad, 
what  could  have  happened  to  have 
changed  him  so?” 

16.  A Discovery 

Although  the  Martian  language 
-would  have  been  much  easier  for 
Kiser  to  learn  than  English  for  Delam 
Oblene,  yet  she  learned  English  very 
quickly  because  there  lurked  in  her  sub- 
conscious memory  a subdued  knowledge 
of  the  language,  just  as  a genius  is  one 
who  in  some  previous  life  has  acquired 
some  proficiency  in  the  line  in  which  he 
is  now  so  expert  and  consequently  draws 
involuntarily  upon  this  subconscious  store 
of  knowledge;  and  within  a short  time 
the  two  could  converse  without  difficulty. 

The  great  soul  of  Delam  Oblene  could 
funaion  but  poorly  through  the  undevel- 
oped brain  of  Juak,  and  yet  it  is  the  soul 
which  matters  most;  for  Juak  with  the*" 
highly  developed  brain  and  beautiful 
body  of  Delam  Oblene  was  quite  as  lowly 
and  base  as  she  had  been  before.  She 


EARTHWORMS  OF  KARMA 


377 


could  no  more  make  use  of  the  brain 
cells  which  were  now  at  her  disposal  than 
Delam  Oblene  could  properly  express 
herself  through  the  brain  and  physique  of 
Juak. 

Both  Kiser  and  Delam  Oblene  found 
it  very  difficult  to  concentrate  upon  any 
plan  for  their  own  deliverance  from  this 
horrid  predicament,  and  in  their  minds 
there  evolved  plans  for  their  permanent 
residence  on  the  satellite  and  the  embry- 
onic idea  that  they  might  eventually  mate 
and  live  quite  happily  together.  And  yet 
there  was  that  infinite  something  which 
forbade  them  yielding  to  impulse — per- 
haps a degree  of  self-control  developed 
by  hundreds  of  years  more  of  experience 
than  the  marbs  have  had. 

Delam  Oblene  could  remember  her  ex- 
periences as  a Martian  but  could  not  re- 
call her  previous  experiences  and  was 
prone  to  forget  recent  occurrences  very 
quickly,  while  Kiser  was  not  so  severely 
handicapped  because  he  had  never  been 
able  to  remember  his  previous  incarna- 
tions. 

One  evening  while  strolling  through 
the  forest  Kiser  noticed  a peculiar  glow 
upon  the  horizon  which  reminded  him  of 
the  Earthly  aurora,  and  though  he  had  no 
idea  how  remote  the  light  might  be,  he 
eleaed  to  make  a tour  of  exploration  at 
least  for  a short  distance  in  that  direaion. 

After  walking  less  than  a mile  he  came 
upon  what  he  first  thought  was  another 
lava  lake,  until  he  refleaed  that  the  lava 
lake  did  not  generate  light  and  noted  that 
this  brilliant  area  gave  forth  no  heat. 

It  was  a bright  phosphorescent  lake 
several  aaes  in  area,  which  illuminated 
this  portion  of  the  forest  with  almost  daz- 
zling brilliance  and  outdid  the  refleaed 
light  from  Mars  in  casting  dense  black 
shadows  back  into  the  surrounding  dark- 
ness. 

With  a long  stick  he  poked  into  the 


shining  mass.  It  was  semi-solid  and 
clung  tenaciously  to  the  stick  when  he 
pulled  it  away.  The  end  of  the  stick 
glowed  brightly  and  when  he  touched  it 
with  his  hand  it  imparted  this  property 
to  his  fingers. 

This  was  undoubtedly  the  source  of 
those  luminous  balls  with  which  the  Pho- 
bians  lighted  their  cave  dwellings;  what 
it  was  composed  of  and  why  it  should 
exist  he  could  not  guess,  as  also  he  was 
at  a loss  to  account  for  the  presence  of 
the  lava  lake  upon  this  small  satellitc 
which,  because  of  its  small  size,  should 
have  cooled  many  thousands  of  years  ago. 
He  had  marveled  also  that  the  atmos- 
phere should  be  so  much  more  dense 
here  than  on  Mars  and  that  the  pull  of 
gravity  was  greater  upon  this  satellite 
than  upon  the  planet.  This  last  he 
suspeaed  was  due  to  the  centrifugal  force 
of  the  rapidly  revolving  satellite  and  won- 
dered vaguely  what  might  happen  to  one 
who  might  chance  to  circumnavigate  the 
satellite  and  attempt  to  walk  on  the  sur- 
face which  was  always  turned  away  from 
Mars. 

When  Kiser  noted  that  the  lake  im- 
parted its  phosphorescent  property  to  the 
stick  an  idea  began  to  formulate  in  his 
slothful  brain;  he  wondered  if  the  Mar- 
tians were  not  quite  proficient  in  astron- 
omy. Since  they  were  possessed  of  supe- 
rior knowledge  in  other  sciences,  he 
reasoned  that  they  probably  excelled  v in 
this  also;  undoubtedly  they  had  seen  this 
luminous  area  and  might  see  such  lumi- 
nous figures  or  charaaers  as  he  might 
make  if  drawn  large  enough. 

He  hurriedly  sought  Delam  Oblene  to 
discuss  this  plan  with  her.  She  informed 
him  that  they  knew  of  the  phosphorescent 
lake,  also  that  the  satellite  had  a greater 
gravitational  pull  due  to  its  centrifugal 
force  and  an  adequate  rainfall,  but  the>’ 
had  not  known  of  the  lava  lakes  or  of  any 
source  of  internal  heat,  having  taught  for 


378 


WEIRD  TALES 


centuries  that  the  satellite  was  damp,  cold, 
and  forbidding. 

When  he  unfolded  his  plans  to  write 
an  S O S with  the  phosphorescent  sub- 
stance she  was  very  enthusiastic  and  of- 
fered her  whole-hearted  co-operation  and 
help.  They  set  out  at  once  for  the  lake, 
and  so  excited  was  Kiser  over  the  further- 
ance of  his  plan  that  he  set  a pace  which 
Delam  Oblene  found  difficulty  in  match- 
ing. 

"We  will  write  both  our  names  in  large 
charaaers,  and  when  the  astronomers  see 
our  inscription  through  their  telescopes 
they  will  deduce  that  we  have  been  ma- 
rooned here  and  take  steps  to  liberate  us 
by  means  of  the  Arrogant.  Imagine 
Kabo’s  surprize  when  he  learns  that  his 
’Earthworm’  has  turned  upon  him  and 
that  his  plans  have  been  foiled!’’ 

"I  have  tried  to  reason  from  every  pos- 
sible angle  and  I can  not  see  wherein 
there  is  a chance  of  failure.  Such  an  in- 
scription as  you  plan  will  most  assuredly 
be  seen  by  our  astronomers,  who  will  at 
once  broadcast  the  news,  and  Frambrozo 
Himnun  will  do  the  rest.’’ 

When  they  reached  the  shore  of  the 
phosphorescent  lake  Kiser  secured  a 
large  stick,  wrapped  one  end  of  it  secure- 
ly with  a thick  coating  of  leaves,  tied 
these  with  grasses,  and  dipped  it  into  the 
glowing  surface  of  the  lake. 

Delam  Oblene  followed  his  example 
but  when  her  stick  was  ready  for  use  she 
returned  to  find  Kiser  floundering  in 
utter  confusion. 

"It’s  no  use!’’  he  cried  in  despair.  "It’s 
no  use;  I can’t  do  it!’’ 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?’’  Delam 
Oblene  was  perplexed. 

"I  can  not  remember  one  single  char- 
aaer  of  script!  Nebond  was  never  taught 
how  to  write,  and  he  might  not  have  been 
had  they  tried,  for  it  seems  that  the  marb 
brain  has  no  graphic  center.  I can  not 
write,  Delam  Oblene!  I can  not  write!’’ 


His  despair  was  pitiable  to  behold,  but 
Delam  Oblene  did  not  cry  for  the  same 
reason  that  Kiser  did  not  write.  Together 
they  turned  and  slunk  despondently  back 
into  the  forest. 

Kiser  spent  a sleepless  night  nursing 
his  recent  disappointment  and  wondering 
if  there  might  be  no  way  in  which  they 
might  seek  deliverance  from  their  tragit 
fate.  He  had  not  realized  the  limitation 
resulting  from  the  possession  of  a marb’s 
brain,  and  feared  lest  he  might  be  over- 
looking some  chance  of  escape  for  that 
reason.  Would  the  things  about  him  look 
the  same  if  he  might  look  at  them  with 
his  own  eyes?  Was  there  not  some  avenue 
of  escape  which  his  submerged  mentality 
was  unable  to  grasp?  But  no;  what  could 
be  more  hopeless  than  being  thus  ma- 
rooned on  a satellite  several  thousand 
miles  from  the  planet  Mars,  which  was 
inaccessible  to  the  inhabitants  of  the 
planet  unless  they  used  the  Earth  craft, 
which  was  extremely  unlikely?  No,  they 
had  not  overlooked  any  possibility  be- 
cause there  was  nothing  to  overlook. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  sought  De- 
lam Oblene. 

"We  were  greatly  disappointed  last 
night  at  our  failure  to  signal  the  planet 
and  the  experience  serves  to  disillusion  us 
regarding  any  false  hopes  of  escape  from 
the  fate  which  Kabo  has  placed  upon  us,’’ 
he  said.  "Perhaps  we  should  make  the 
best  of  it  and  try  to  be  happy.  Why 
should  we  not  mate  and  tty  to  forget  our 
troubles?’’ 

"Do  you  think  there  is  no  hope  that 
we  might  be  discovered  by  your  friend 
from  Earth  and  taken  back  to  Masovada, 
where  the  Council  would  demand  our  de- 
liverance at  Kabo’s  hands?’’ 

"Alas,  no,  there  is  no  further  hope. 
No  one  dreams  diat  we  may  be  on  this 
satellite,  and  unless  that  were  suspeaed 
it  would  never  occur  to  them  to  visit  Pho- 
bus.  But  it  is  not  because  of  the  faa  that 


EARTHWORMS  OF  KARMA 


579 


we  may  never  escape  our  fate  dbat  1 wish 
to  mate  widi  you,  Delam  Oblene;  it  is 
because  I have  learned  to  care  for  you 
very,  very  mudi.” 

"Earthman,  I fear  to  make  so  impor- 
tant a decision  with  my  present  mental 
equipment!  I do  not  know  what  to  de- 
cide; I do  not  know  how  I should  answer 
you.  Please  give  me  a few  days  longer 
to  think — or  try  to  think.  Perhaps  it  is 
best  (hat  we  attonpt  to  make  the  best  of 
a bad  situation;  perhaps  it  is  best  that  we 
should  mate  and  try  to  forget  as  you  say, 
but  do  not  ask  me  to  decide  just  now. 
Sometimes  I think  that  I do  love  you, 
Josq>h  Kiser,  and  I would  go  through 
this  experience  again  to  aid  you;  but  I 
do  not  know  how  I should  answer  you 
just  now.  Perhaps  tomorrow  I shall  tell 
you  my  answer.” 

Josqjh  Kiser  readied  out  a hairy,  cal- 
loused hand  and  clasped  another  larger 
and  evai  more  calloused  one,  and  with  a 
horrid  grimace  whidi  was  intended  for  a 
loving  smile,  he  lifted  it  to  his  coarse, 
hvid  lips.  Just  then  he  thmight  of  Ruth. 
Might  she  not  at  this  moment  be  think- 
ing of  him.’  Had  she  allowed  another 
CO  r^lace  him  in  her  heart?  Had  she 
ceased  to  love  him  because  of  these  few 
months  of  separation?  Kiser  could  not 
bring  himself  to  believe  that  she  had. 

17.  Piliuth's  Dilemma 

Having  sought  in  vain  for  the  two 
viaims  of  Kabo’s  mania  for  scien- 
tific advancemeru,  Pilluth  was  forced  to 
confer  again  with  Kabo. 

"I  have  come,’'  he  said,  struggling  to 
control  his  einotion,  "to  make  a confes- 
sion, ask  some  questions,  and  demand  an 
adjustmeru.” 

"Your  confession  and  your  questions, 
my  dear  Pilluth,  I will  hear  with  pleas- 
ure,” replied  Kabo,  “but  you  should  re- 
call that  there  are  but  few  who  may 


demand  anything  of  Kabo.  Other  things 
that  you  should  recall  are  that  as  a re- 
cently commissioned  scientist,  your  success 
will  depend  largely  upon  my  co-opera- 
tion." 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  you  shall  hear  me 
and  just  this  once  you  shall  do  as  1 de- 
mand. I have  seen  the  creature  which 
you  have  imprisoned  within  your  gar- 
dens who  b^s  the  physical  body  of 
Delam  Oblene.  I have  not  been  able  to 
find  Delam  Oblene  herself  nor  the  marb 
form  of  the  Earthman,  but  you  can  do  so 
— and  this  you  are  going  to  do  imme- 
diately, for  I am  very  impatient  to  have 
them  restored;  in  fact,  the  longer  their 
restoration  is  delayed  the  more  I am  im- 
^ pressed  with  the  conviaion  that  it  would 
be  a virtue  to  murder  you  with  my  two 
hands  and  suffer  the  consequences!” 

"And  just  how,  may  I ask,  are  you  go- 
ing to  enforce  your  demand?  You  have 
confessed  that  you  can  not  find  the  two 
marbs;  therefore  you  can  not  restore  them 
yourself;  you  dare  not  rqjort  me  to  the 
Council,  for  you  are  as  guilty  of  the 
Earthling’s  derangement  as  I;  and  you 
will  not  murder  me  as  you  have  threat- 
ened, for  then  there  would  be  no  one 
who  could  tell  you  where  the  two  whom 
you  seek  are  hidden.  No,  Pilluth,  as 
always  Kabo  holds  the  winning  cards  and 
you  are  quite  as  helpless  as  the  fools 
whom  you  desire  to  aid.” 

"There  is  one  trump,  Kabo,  on  which 
you  failed  to  reckon.”  'There  was  a men- 
acing gleam  in  Piliuth’s  eyes,  and  Kabo 
paled.  "That  is  my  physical  strength.  I 
shall  give  you  just  a taste  of  it  now  and 
repeat  it  each  half-hour  in  increasing 
doses  until  you  are  brought  to  realize  that 
I mean  business  when  I tell  you  that  these 
people  must  be  restored?” 

KUuth  caugfit  a firm  hold  upon  Kabo’s 
long  slender  throat,  and  when  his  finger’s 
tightened  the  Martian’s  face  first  red- 
dened and  then  grew  quite  purple  as  his 


380 


WEIRD  TALES 


eyes  protruded  to  their  extreme  limit  and 
he  struggled  impotently  while  Pilluth 
shook  him  as  though  he  were  a mere  in- 
fant. 

Pilluth  retained  his  self-control,  how- 
ever, and  when  the  other  began  to  relax 
in  his  efforts  at  resistance  he  released  his 
hold  and  flung  the  gasping  Kabo  back 
into  the  chair. 

"Perhaps  it  may  not  be  necessary  to  re- 
peat that  performance,”  said  Pilluth 
evenly  when  Kabo  had  recovered  himself 
somewhat,  "but  just  the  same  I shall  de- 
crease the  interval  to  fifteen  minutes  and 
I shall  stay  here  and  continue  to  argue 
in  this  manner  until  you  tell  me  where 
you  have  hidden  your  niece  and  the 
Earthman.  And  remember:  if  you  have 
killed  them,  then  there  is  no  further 
reason  for  my  refraining  from  killing 
you,  as  I should  like  very  much  to  do.” 

"You  fool!”  gasped  Kabo.  "I  shall 
ruin  you  for  this!  No,  I will  not  tell  you 
where  they  are  hidden,  and  you  shall  rue 
the  day  which  gave  you  the  idea  that  you 
might  cross  Kabo  and  prosper!” 

Kabo  pressed  a small  button  upon  his 
desk  and  sprang  to  his  feet.  At  once  a 
door  opened  behind  Pilluth  and  Nebond 
stepped  into  the  room. 

"Get  him,  Nebond!”  screamed  Kabo. 
"You  may  nm  amuck  and  rend  him  to 
your  heart’s  content!  Beat  him!  Kill  him 
if  you  like;  and  if  you  do  not  you  shall 
have  no  more  food!” 

Without  hesitation  Nebond  sprang 
upon  the  astonished  Pilluth  and  struck 
him  a mighty  blow  between  the  eyes,  and 
the  Martian  fell  limp  and  inert  to  the 
floor  without  even  so  much  as  an  effort  to 
defend  himself. 

After  having  ascertained  that  Pilluth 
still  lived,  Kabo  called  an  ambulance  and 
had  him  conveyed  to  the  Emergency 
House,  then  went  about  his  duties  just 
as  though  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary 
had  happened.  He  calmly  reported  the 


incident  to  the  Councilor  Chief,  saying 
that  the  Earthman  had  bolted  from  his 
cell  and  injured  Pilluth.  "The  Earthman 
is  getting  very  troublesome,”  he  reported; 
"should  we  not  urge  his  friends  to  take 
him  back  to  Earth  as  soon  as  possible? 
He  has  such  strength  that  our  walls  will 
hardly  contain  him  and  sooner  or  later 
he  is  going  to  kill  someone.  I shall  attend 
Pilluth  personally;  perhaps  I may  be  able 
to  save  him,  but  I fear  that  he  is  fatally 
hurt.  I seriously  doubt  that  he  will  ever 
regain  consciousness.” 

"No,”  the  Cotmcilor  Chief  informed 
him,  "we  do  not  want  the  Earthlings  to 
return,  nor  could  they  do  so  if  they  would 
until  they  construa  a pump  with  which 
to  replenish  their  air  supply.  If  your 
walls  are  not  strong  enough  we  shall  con- 
struCT  stronger  walls.  Keep  him  there 
and  do  the  best  you  can  to  restore  his 
reason.” 

"You  are  right;  the  scientist  from  Earth 
should  not  be  allowed  to  return.  I will 
do  what  may  be  done  for  the  madman, 
but  I am  sure  that  he  is  quite  incurable. 
He  has  lived  with  some  tribe  of  marbs 
until  he  believes  himself  one  of  them. 
He  has  even  forgotten  his  own  language 
and  has  acquired  the  monotonous  speech 
of  the  marbs.  I will  report  Pilluth’s 
progress  from  day  to  day,  and  if  the  poor 
fellow  should  pass  out  I shall  attend  to 
the  details  of  his  cremation.” 

18.  Ruth  Decides 

Frambrozo  himnun  had  respected 
Ruth’s  love  for  Kiser  and  had  said 
nothing  to  her  of  love,  but  they  had  been 
thrown  much  in  each  other’s  company, 
and  since  the  reported  death  of  Delam 
Oblene,  the  Martian  had  found  solace 
from  his  bereavement  in  the  companion- 
ship of  the  Earth-girl  and  they  had  con- 
fided in  each  other  unreservedly  until  a 
sort  of  comradeship  had  spnmg  up  be- 


EARTHWORMS  OF  KARMA 


381 


tween  them  which  amounted  to  an  almost 
perfea  understanding. 

And  since  Ruth’s  harrowing  experience 
in  the  Martian  forest  she  could  not  think 
of  Kiser  without  a shudder  of  aversion, 
yet  amid  all  of  this  there  persisted  the 
memory  of  him  as  she  had  known  him  in 
days  gone  by,  and  she  had  never  ceased 
to  long  for  him  as  he  was  then.  It  was  as 
though  his  soul  had  been  snatched  from 
him;  he  seemed  a man  without  a soul,  a 
physical  remnant  of  his  former  self  with 
even  the  memory  of  past  events  gone 
from  him,  speaking  a different  language 
and  fancying  himself  a beast;  this  must 
indeed  be  a strange  sort  of  mania. 

Professor  Hervy’s  new-found  interest 
in  the  Martian’s  maiden  sister  also  added 
to  Ruth’s  loneliness,  and  when  at  length 
Himnun  began  to  talk  to  her  of  love  she 
listened  willingly.  Why  should  she  not 
wed  this  wonderful  Martian  and  try  to 
live  happily  upon  Mars?  'The  Martian 
scientists  had  told  them  that  the  Arrogant 
would  probably  not  be  able  to  maljr  the 
return  voyage  and  she  might  never  see 
others  of  her  own  kind,  and,  after  all, 
the  Earth  life  would  seem  quite  crude  in- 
deed now,  since  they  had  had  a taste  of 
the  Martian  existence. 

“We  have  both  had  our  disappoint- 
ments in  life,”  Himnun  said.  “My  own 
hope  for  happiness  seemed  dead  with  the 
passing  of  Delam  Oblene,  but  your  com- 
panionship has  revived  it.  I refrained 
from  speaking  vmtil  today,  when  the 
Councilor  Chief  informed  me  that  Kabo 
has  no  further  hope  of  Joseph  Kiser’s  re- 
covery. Now  I must  tell  you  that  I love 
you;  we  understand  one  another  and  I 
know  that  we  can  live  happily  together. 
Our  physical  differences  need  not  matter, 
and  who  knows  but  that  Earth  blood  is 
just  what  is  needed  to  remedy  our  phys- 
ical imperfections?” 

"I  hardly  know  how  I should  answer 
you,  Himnun.  I am  sure  that  I love  you 


and  I feel  certain  that  we  could  live  hap- 
pily together,  and  yet  I feel  that  I should 
not  desert  Joseph  Kiser  while  there  might 
be  any  hope  for  his  recovery,  and  per- 
haps if  we  might  only  get  him  back  to 
Earth  and  away  from  this  low  pressure 
atmosphere  he  would  recover.  I feel  that 
we  should  try  to  perfea  pumps  large 
enough  to  replenish  our  reservoirs.  If 
you  think  best  we  will  not  divulge  the 
faa  that  we  have  succeeded  in  reaching 
your  planet,  but  I feel  that  we  must  at- 
tempt to  get  him  back  and  give  him  this 
chance  to  recover.” 

"But  do  you  have  upon  Earth  any  such 
scientist  as  Unel  Kabo?” 

"Himnun,  dear,  I do  not  know  why  I 
should  feel  so,  but  I do  not  trust  your 
Unel  Kabo.  He  is  so  repulsive  to  me,  and 
it  seems  so  strange  that  poor  Joseph 
should  have  returned  to  Kabo’s  estate 
that  day  upon  which  we  discovered  him. 
The  path  of  destruaion  which  he  had 
wrought  started  from  there,  too,  and  the 
poor  boy  seemed  to  have  intended  stop- 
ping there  until  he  chanced  to  remember 
that  everything  about  him  had  been 
destroyed.  Do  you  suppose  it  is  possible, 
Himnun,  that  Kabo  may  have  destroyed 
his  reason?” 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!  I am  sure  that  you  do 
Kabo  a fearful  injustice  to  even  so  much 
as  imagine  such  a thing.  Why,  he  is  our 
Councilor  Scientist  and  highly  respeaed 
and  honored  all  over  Masovada.  Why 
should  you  distrust  Kabo,  Ruth?” 

“I  do  not  know  why,  but  I do.  He 
does  not  impress  me  as  an  honorable  man, 
and  I can  not  endure  his  sarcastic  attitude. 
And  since  he  maintains  that  Joseph  is  in- 
curable, why  should  he  deny  us  the  priv- 
ilege of  seeing  him?” 

"I  do  not  know,  but  I am  sure  that 
there  is  some  good  reason.  Perhaps  he 
fears  that  it  may  not  be  safe;  only  yester- 
day the  Earthman  attacked  and  probably 
fatally  injured  Kabo’s  former  assistant, 


382 


WEIRD  TALES 


Anhut  Pillndi.  I fear  dtat  you  have 
allowed  yoursdf  to  become  unjustly 
prejudiced,  Ruth." 

"Perhaps.  Perhaps  I should  feel  shame 
to  diink  as  I do  regarding  your  Coun- 
cilor Scientist,  but  what  has  he  done 
to  entitle  him  to  the  respea  and  confi- 
dence of  rifle  people  of  Mars.?’’ 

"He  has  struggled  upward  from  the 
tank  of  a laboratory  technician  to  that  of 
Councilor  Scientist  by  hard  work  and 
sheer  merit.  He  is  the  leader  of  a certain 
school  of  scientific  thought  which  at- 
tempts to  explain  heredity  upon  the  basis 
of  natural  seleaion  and  the  development 
of  brain  centers,  vhile  the  contending 
element  maintains  that  heredity  can  be 
explained  by  means  of  natural  selection 
alone.  And  by  natural  seleaion  we  mean 
diat  a soul,  upon  being  incarnated  on 
Masovada,  diooses  or  sdeas  the  family 
which  most  nearly  harmonizes  with  its 
needs — or  that  the  parents  subconscious- 
ly choose  a kindred  spirit  for  their  off- 
spring. To  this  theory  Kabo  has  added  the 
suggestion  that  the  individual  by  thous- 
ands of  years  of  culture  and  development 
has  acquired  certain  highly  specialized 
brain  centers  which  are  passed  on  to  the 
offspring  ready  for  use  when  the  new  in- 
dividual is  properly  trained,  and  that  this 
has  a bearing  upon  heredity.  Kabo  has 
all  but  proved  his  contentions  by  a series 
of  surgical  operatitms  wherein  he  has 
successfully  transferred  the  mentality  of 
one  animal  to  the  body  of  another 
and " 

But  Ruth  was  not  listening.  Sie  had 
risen  from  her  seat  and  her  face  was 
deadly  pale. 

"Wiy,  what  is  die  matter.?"  Himnun 
sprang  to  his  feet  startled. 

*1  see — I see?"  cried  Ruth  almost  in- 
ctrfierently.  "That  is  what  he  has  done  to 
Joseph  Kiser!" 

'*Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked 
Himnun,  bewildered. 


“Don’t  you  see,  Himnun?  He  has — ^he 
has — ^my  God!  Why  did  we  not  suspea 
the  truth  before.?" 

"You  can  not  mean  that — diat — why, 
Ruth,  surely  you  do  not  believe " 

"I  do  not  believe — know!  He  has 
put  the  mentality  of  a beast  widiin  die 
body  of  Joseph  IGser!” 

"But,  RuA,  why  do  you  Aink  Kabo 
has  done  Ais  Aing?  Sudi  Aings  are  not 
done  upon  Masovada.” 

"But  there  can  be  no  doubt?  Kabo  did 
Ais  thing  and  kept  Joe  imprisoned  until 
he  escaped  quite  by  accident.  His  paA 
of  destmaion  started  wiAin  Kabo’s  gar- 
dens and  he  returned  there  wiA  me  be- 
fore he  carried  me  into  the  forest.  He 
spoke  the  Martian  language  and  claimed 
to  be  one  of  the  marbs  who  had  been 
taken  into  captivity  some  monAs  before, 
and  now  I remember  his  having  told  the 
marbs  diat  Kabo  had  captured  him,  al- 
though I did  not  notice  it  at  Ae  time.” 

At  first  Himnun  was  inclined  to  doubt 
Kabo’s  guik  but  he  was  forced  to  con- 
cede Aat  the  evidence  was  overwhelm- 
ing, and  at  lengA  he  got  in  communica- 
tion wdA  Kabo  and  demanded  Aat  Ae 
scientist’s  garden  be  opened  to  Councilar 
inspeaion. 

Kabo  tried  to  play  for  time,  but  Him- 
nun would  take  no  excuses;  he  demanded 
an  immediate  investigation  of  Kabo’s 
estate  and  at  lengA  Kabo  came  to  terms. 

“Himnun,”  he  urged,  *1  am  ready  to 
confess  my  guilt  in  Ais  matter.  I have 
suffered  the  agonies  of  Ae  damned  be- 
cause of  having  done  Ais  Aing,  but  once 
I had  started  it  I feared  to  stop.  Just 
stop  Ais  Councilar  investigation  and  I 
will  restore  Ae  EarAling  as  best  I can. 
Of  course  Aere  will  be  a certain  dement 
of  danger  conneaed  with  the  operation 
of  restoration  because  of  the  scar  tissue 
which  will  be  encounter^,  but  I Aink  I 
can  restore  Aem.  God  knows  I have 
been  punished  sufikiently — I did  Ais 


EARTHWORMS  OF  KARMA 


383 


thing  before  I knew  that  there  were  oth- 
ers in  the  Earthman’s  party,  and  you  may 
imagine  the  suspense  I have  borne  since 
the  search  for  him  was  started.  I can 
not  bear  the  thought  of  being  disgraced 
and  deported,  and  I will  bargain  with 
you  for  the  restoration  of  the  Earthling: 
if  you  withhold  your  knowledge  of  my 
guilt  I will  restore  him,  but  if  you  report 
me  to  the  Council  he  shall  remain  for- 
ever as  he  is.” 

19.  Restoration 

Not  one  word  did  Kabo  broadcast 
regarding  Delam  Oblene,  but  he 
must  have  known  that  his  whole  secret 
would  be  found  out  when  Kiser  was  re- 
stored, and  of  course  the  indolent  Ne- 
bond  would  reveal  his  duplicity  in  regard 
to  Pilluth’s  injury;  so  he  dared  not  exe- 
cute his  original  plan  regarding  his  for- 
mer assistant;  and  so  it  was  that  about 
the  time  when  the  Earthman’s  "recov- 
ery’’ was  announced,  Pilluth  was  able 
to  sit  in  a wheel-chair  for  a few  minutes  • 
at  a time. 

The  Earthman’s  recovery  was  another 
great  triumph  for  Kabo,  who  announced 
at  the  same  time  that  his  niece,  Delam 
Oblene,  whom  he  had  thought  dead  for 
some  months,  had  in  reality  been  affliaed 
with  the  same  malady  which  had  crazed 
Joseph  Kiser  and  that  with  an  operation 
of  his  own  designing  he  had  restored  the 
reason  of  both.  It  was  quite  a new 
malady,  Kabo  announced,  but  now  he 
felt  that  he  had  it  under  perfea  control 
so  that  there  would  be  no  further  spread 
— just  as  many  times  before  he  had  con- 
trolled other  maladies  which  had  harassed 
the  Masovadans. 

Although  much  further  incensed  at 
Kabo  for  his  treatment  of  Delam  Oblene, 
Himnun  was  overjoyed  at  her  restoration 
"from  the  dead,”  as  it  were;  and  since 
the  Councilor  Scientist  had  made  himself 


a popular  idol  of  the  Martians  by  his 
supposed  accomplishments,  he  reasoned 
that  it  would  not  be  best  to  denounce 
him  for  his  crimes  and  chose  to  remain 
silent.  But  not  so  Pilluth. 

How  long  Pilluth  had  been  gone  from 
the  Emergency  House  before  his  absence 
was  discovered  none  of  the  attendants 
knew.  He  had  not  as  yet  been  allowed 
to  walk  and  certainly  was  not  able  to 
leave  the  institution  alone. 

'The  alarm  was  at  once  broadcast  and 
an  attempt  was  made  to  communicate 
with  Kabo,  but  he  could 'not  be  reached. 
Many  times  his  vibratory  rate  was  con- 
centrated upon  but  he  did  not  respond. 
What  could  be  the  matter?  And  why 
had  Pilluth  disappeared?  'The  superin- 
tendent was  notified  and  he  rushed  at 
once  to  the  landing-terrace  to  go  in 
search  of  the  missing  sick  man,  but  when 
he  reached  the  terrace  he  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprize,  for  his  kandike 
was  gone!  ^ 

'The  institution  was  in  a fever  of  ex- 
citement; attendants  were  questioned, 
messages  were  broadcast  over  the  city, 
the  Gjuncilor  Qiief  was  notified,  and, 
attempted  communication  with  Kabo 
having  failed,  an  efFort  was  made  to 
reach  Pilluth  himself — all  without  result. 

'The  excitement  at  the  Emergency 
House  had  reached  the  degree  of  its 
maximum  intensiveness  when  the  super- 
intendent’s kandike  was  jokingly  parked 
upon  the  landing-terrace  and  Pillutifi  stag- 
gered out  of  it,  to  fall  fainting  into  the 
arms  of  the  astonished  attendants. 

When  Pilluth  had  been  put  to  bed  and 
revived  he  asked  for  Himnun. 

"I  have  done  what  I considered  my 
duty,”  said  Pilluth  as  Himnun  seated 
himself  at  the  bedside.  'Then  he  related 
in  detail  what  had  happened  since  the 
landing  of  the  Earth-craft,  and  added: 
"Knowing  that  you  must  have  bargained 
with  Kabo  I was  not  content  to  lie  still 


384 


WEIRD  TALES 


aad  allow  lum  to  go  free  with  the  ap- 
plause of  all  Masovada.  His  depraTity 
demanded  severe  punishment,  and  I 
deaed  to  administer  it;  so  I sneaked 
away  from  the  Emergenqir  House  and 
performed  upon  him  his  own  operation, 
transferring  his  mentality  to  the  body  of 
Nebond  and  die  mentality  of  Nebond  to 
die  body  of  Kabo  just  as  he  did  in  the 
case  of  Joseph  Kiser.” 

Himnun  gasped  and  sprang  to  his  feet 
in  his  amazement.  '"'J^at!  You  mean 
to  teH  me  that  you  did  that  horrible 
dung?” 

"Yes,  and  Kabo  got  no  more  than  he 
justly  deserved.  Or — I should  have  said 
that  1 attempted  to  make  the  interchange; 
for  there  was  so  much  scar  tissue  in  Ne- 
bond’s  brain  and  he  was  so  weakened 
from  his  previous  recent  operation  that  I 
do  not  believe  he  can  recover.  That  is 
— Kabo  will  die.  Kabo  in  Ndx)nd’s 
physical  body  will  die,  but  with  proper 
care  Kabo’s  body  and  Nebond’ s men- 
taliQr  will  survive.” 

”My  God,  Pilludii  Why  did  you  do 
that?  Is  there  no  way  in  which  your 
work  may  be  undone  before  it  is  too 
late?” 

'There  are  none  who  can  perform  that 
opetation  excepting  Kabo  and  myself; 
I am  dying  and  Kabo  is  probably  likewise 
dying.  Even  should  he  recover  there 
•will  be  no  one  left  to  restore  him  unless 
he  mi^  trsun  someone  else  .and  teadi 
another  his  tedinic,  even  as  he  taught  it 
to  me. 

”I  realized  that  the  escapade  would 
probably  be  fatal  to  me,  but  I fek  it  my 
duty  to  punish  Kabo  as  he  deserved  to  be 
punished,  since  you  were  in  all  prob- 
ability bound  to  secrecy  by  such  promises 
as  you  must  have  made  in  order  to  obtain 
the  release  of  Delam  Oblene  and  die 
Earthling.  I also  felt  it  my  duty  to  make 
sure  that  the  visiting  Earthlings  should 


never  retom  to  Aar  owm  |danet.  I have 
porushed  Kabo  and  ! have  destre^ed  the 
Earth-craft;  now  if  death  comes  I diall 
be  ready,  I can  face  my  next  incarnation 
wiAoot  remorse,  wiAout  regrets.” 

"You  destroyed  Ae  EarA-craftl  Pil- 
luA,  you  are  mad!  Why  did  you  do 
Aat?” 

'T  felt  Aat  I must  Aus  safeguard 
Masovada  against  Ac  reign  of  terror  Aat 
might  ensue  if  Ae  strife-loving  EaiA- 
lings  were  to  build  hundreds  of  similar 
craft  and  invade  Ae  planet  wiA  Aeir 
greed  and  avarice  and  their  implements 
of  war.  'Theirs  is  a competitive  system, 
and  to  have  Aem  among  us  wotild  de- 
stroy our  own  co-operative  methods;  for 
Ae  two  are  incxjmpatible  and  Ae  one 
must  be  evolved.  I considered  Ae  EarA- 
craft  a menace  to  Ae  peace  and  s^ety 
of  Masovada.  True,  just  now  Aey  can 
not  replenish  Aeir  air  supply,  but  it 
would  be  only  a short  while  until  Aey 
should  bethink  Aemselves  of  taking  Ae 
craft  to  Trandos,  where  Ae  atmospheric 
pressure  is  almost  as  great  as  on  Ae 
Earth.  Kabo  confessed  to  me  while  par- 
tially under  the  influence  of  Ae  Strotan 
Ray  Aat  he  had  marooned  boA  his  vic- 
tims on  Ae  satellite  and  had  secretly 
purloined  Ae  EarA-crrft  and  made  two 
successful  voyages  to  Trandos;  once  to 
convey  them  Aere  and  once  to  fetA  Aem 
back  for  Aeir  restoration.  'There  Ae  air 
supply  could  be  replenished  and  they 
could  not  long  resist  Ae  longing  to  re- 
turn to  EarA  and  impart  Ae  truAs  of 
our  superior  advancement,  whiA  Ae 
Earthlings  are  not  yet  ready  to  receive — 
not  by  Aousands  of  years.  I doubt  if 
Ae  craft  may  be  reproduced  on  Maso- 
vada, because  here  we  have  none  of  Ae 
helium  gas  wiA  whiA  Aey  fill  c«tain 
of  Aeir  so-called  Vacuum  tubes’;  not  at 
any  rate  for  many,  many  years.” 

PilluA’s  voice  became  vety  weak.  His 
lips  were  becoming  quite  blue,  due  to  dr- 


EARTHWORMS  OF  KARMA 


385 


culatoty  failure,  and  even  Himnun,  in- 
experienced as  he  was  in  the  branch  of 
science  pertaining  to  disease,  knew  that 
the  man  was  dying.  He  called  a nurse 
to  the  bedside  and  hurried  out  to  render 
what  assistance  might  be  given  to  the 
hapless  Kabo  and  to  break  the  news  of 
the  destruaion  of  the  Arrogant  to  the 
Earthlings. 

This  news,  however,  they  received 
with  far  more  fortitude  than  Himnun 
had  expeaed.  All  had  learned  to  love 
the  marvelous  advantages  of  the  Martian 
life  and  their  desire  to  return  to  the  strife 
and  contention  of  Eanh  had  ebbed  quite 
low,  save  for  the  desire  to  tell  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  Earth  about  the  unique  won- 
ders of  the  Manian  civilization  in  order 
that  they  might  hasten  their  own  evolu- 
tionary progress;  and  now  that  their  last 
chance  to  do  this  was  gone  they  could  live 
happily  on  Mars  with  no  qualms  of  con- 
science regarding  Earthly  progress. 

When  Himnun  saw  the  glances  that 
were  exchanged  between  Ruth  and  Joseph 
Kiser  he  was  glad  that  he  had  not  pushed 
his  suit  for  the  hand  of  the  Earth-girl 
more  vigorously,  but  more  than  this  was 
his  heart  gladdened  by  the  smile  be- 
stowed upon  him  by  Delam  Oblene,  who 
was  now  restored  to  her  rightful  body 
and  her  wondrous  beauty.  And  so  it 
was  left  for  Professor  Hervy  and  Mer- 
lene  to  restore  the  needed  physical 
prowess  to  the  Martians  if  it  were  to  be 
restored  in  this  generation. 

20.  In  Conclusion 

The  foregoing  is  an  accurate  and 
fairly  detailed  account  of  the  adven- 
tures of  my  old  friend  and  schoolmate, 
Joseph  Kiser,  as  it  came  to  me  at  various 
times  over  my  huge  "Radograph,”  a new 
modification  of  the  Morse  instrument  of 
my  own  invention,  the  only  existing  du- 
plicate of  which  Kiser  took  with  him 
W.T.— 7 


upon  his  memorable  expediticKi  some 
three  years  ago. 

At  times  I have  doubted  its  authen- 
ticity, for  it  all  seems  so  stupendous  and 
unreal,  and  the  chances  for  fraudulent 
commimication  must  be  conceded;  but 
when  I stop  to  consider  the  charaaer  of 
Joseph  Kiser,  a man  whose  veracity  has 
always  been  quite  beyond  any  shadow  of 
reproach,  a man  whose  word  has  always 
been  as  good  as  a government  bond,  and 
who  has  never  had  any  patience  with 
fraud  or  fraudulent  dealings  of  all  kinds, 
I know  that  he  would  nbt  intentionally 
deceive  me.  I know,  too,  that  it  is  he 
sending,  he  has  proved  himself  many 
times  by  relating,  with  our  specially  ar- 
ranged code,  incidents  known  only  to 
him  and  myself. 

How  well  do  I recall  our  last  meeting 
on  the  eve  of  their  momentous  departure 
from  Earth,  an  event  which  thrilled  the 
whole  world  with  the  base  absurdity  of 
the  thing! 

I,  too,  had  denounced  him  as  a fool 
for  engaging  upon  such  a venture,  and 
berated  him  soundly  for  allowing  his 
sweetheart  to  join  in  so  hazardous  a jour- 
ney; but  at  the  last  moment  I clasped  his 
hand  and  tearfully  bade  him  farewell, 
for  to  me  then  it  seemed  a certainty  that 
he  was  going  forth  to  his  death. 

"Keep  faith  with  me,  Lon,”  he  said  in 
parting;  "be  sure  and  do  not  allow  your- 
self to  grow  rusty  on  our  code,  and  keep 
on  trying  for  at  least  five  years.  Wher- 
ever we  land,  if  we  do  land.  I’ll  manage 
somehow  to  provide  for  power  enough 
to  reach  you.  Just  keep  listening,  Lon; 
promise  me  you’ll  keep  on  listening.” 

And  I promised,  although  it  grieves 
me  now  to  recall  how  near  I came  to 
breaking  that  promise,  for  I had  not  the 
least  hope  then  of  ever  having  the  oppor- 
tunity of  answering  his  signals.  In  fact, 
I never  approached  my  instrument  with 


386 


WEIRD  TALES 


the  thought  of  Kiser  in  mind  that  I did 
not  feel  quite  silly  because  of  the  subcon- 
scious hope  that  he  might  be  calling  me. 

It  was  more  than  two  years  after  the 
departure  of  the  Arrogant  when  I caught 
the  first  signal  from  Joseph  Kiser.  At 
first  it  did  not  register  upon  my  con- 
sciousness, and  was  only  an  unintelligible 
series  of  ticks;  some  amateur  perhaps,  for 
my  Radograph  will  receive  from  any 
Morse  instrument.  I listened  intently, 
trying  to  interpret  the  message.  Then 
suddenly  I was  alert;  it  was  Kiser’s  call 
in  our  code. 

I seized  the  key  and  sent  him  my  an- 
swer. He  spent  several  whole  minutes 
sending  nothing  but  emphatic  ejacula- 
tions of  joy.  He  had  established  com- 
munication with  the  Earth,  and  his  joy 
seemed  unbounded.  Then  he  spent  sev- 
eral hours  unfolding  to  me  the  foregoing 
story.  The  reception  was  very  poor  at 
times  and  he  had  even  greater  difiiculty 
in  receiving  from  me;  consequently  there 
are  many  things  which  he  tried  to  tell  me 
which  I have  been*  forced  to  omit  from 
this  narrative  because  I could  not  get  it 
dearly  enough  to  comprehend,  and 


strange  to  say,  since  that  day  I have  never 
been  able  to  communicate  with  him  at  all. 
Although  I have  tried  diligently  night 
and  day  for  many  weeks  and  months,  the 
line  of  communication  between  Earth 
and  the  planet  Mars  appeiurs  to  have  been 
permanently  broken. 

What  has  happened  in  this  conneaion 
I do  not  have  the  faintest  idea.  Perhaps 
my  friend  has  been  killed;  perhaps  the 
Martian  authorities  did  not  want  to  have 
the  Earthmen  know  of  the  success  of  the 
Arrogant’s  flight  lest  others  attempt  it 
and  likewise  succeed;  perhaps  the  batter- 
ies with  which  Kiser  operated  the  Rado- 
graph have  worn  out  and  they  are  unable 
to  replace  them  upon  Mars.  Or  yet  per- 
haps I may  hear  more  from  him  later, 
who  knows? 

I know  that  there  are  many  things 
which  Joseph  Kiser  would  like  to  tell  me 
and  which  he  will  yet  tell  me  if  the  op- 
portunity oflFers,  and  so  I am  hoping,  lis- 
tening, signaling,  praying  for  more  news 
from  Mars,  more  of  die  culture  and 
knowledge  that  we  may  the  sooner  evolve 
to  a higher  state  of  teing  than  that  of 
Earthworms  of  Karma. 


[THE  END] 


A Tale  of  a Fire  Elemental 


THE  FLAME  FIEND 

By  N.  J.  O’NEAIL 


PnpiHANKS,  Archer,  I’U  be  glad  to 

I join  you,  but  with  just  one  stipula- 
tion— and  it  must  seem  an  insane 
one;  that  you  don’t  light  a fire  in  that 
huge  fireplace  of  yours. 

No,  I’m  not  joking.  Call  it  an  absurd 
whim,  if  you  choose;  though  God  knows 
it’s  not  that,  either;  I was  never  more  seri- 
ous in  my  life.  I know  it’s  a cool  evening, 
with  a wind  blowing,  that  bites  like  sin 
itself;  but  I’d  rather  face  a lifetime  in  the 
eternal  ice  at  the  pole,  than  — well,  no 
matter  about  that. 

It  isn’t  that  I’ve  any  Eskimo  complex; 
I crave  warmth,  and  shrink  from  cold, 
more  dian  the  average  man.  But — well, 
as  I said,  there’ s no  use  trying  to  explain 
it.  I could,  of  course,  but  you  wouldn’t 
believe  me;  you’d  be  a fool  if  you  did. 

Set  it  down  to  pyrophobia,  if  you  like. 
An  obsession?  Well,  yes,  perhaps.  But 
you  needn’t  look  at  me  like  diat;  diere’s 
nodiing  psychopathic  sdbout  it.  My  mind’s 
as  sound  as  it  ever  was,  and  as  normal; 
and  that’s  a wonder,  perhaps,  after — oh, 
damn  it,  Ardier,  on  second  thou^t  I’d 
better  not  go;  I’d  only  have  you  studying 
me  all  evening  as  if  I were  an  object  les- 
son in  idiosyncrasies.  Just  forget  that  I 
ever  mentioned  any  such  thing. 

No,  k’s  no  use  trying  to  explain;  I 
never  have,  yet.  I’d  sooner  be  classed  as 
just  plain  eccentric  than  as  a combination 
of  liar,  lunatic  and  hophead.  No,  you 
might  not,  old  man,  but  I couldn’t  ask 
even  you  to  believe — ^well,  damn  it,  why 
not,  after  all?  Now  that  you’ve  got  my 
thtHights  running  through  that  channel  of 


hell  again,  it  might  ease  my  mind — as  I 
said,  you  won’t  believe  me;  but  at  least 
you  won’t  laugh  at  me. 

Besides,  it  should  be  of  particular  inter- 
est to  you,  since  it  has  a bearing  on  poor 
old  Sharpies  and  his  fate.  You  remem- 
ber him,  of  course,  with  his  deep-sunken, 
brooding  eyes,  gleaming  above  his  big 
beak  of  a'  nose,  and  his  graying,  reddish 
hair,  straggling  awiy  from  under  that  rum 
old  skull-cap?  Why,  of  course;  we  were 
in  his  class  in  applied  psychology  togeth- 
er. Can’t  you  still  see  him  there  on  the 
platform,  dinning  into  our  adolescent  ears 
the  supremacy  of  mind  over  matter? 

He  dabbled,  of  course,  in  all  kinds  of 
occult  research;  "dabbled”  isn’t  the  word, 
eWier,  for  it  was  die  absorbing  pas^n  of 
his  life.  I don’t  suppose  there  have  been 
a dozen  men  in  the  last  century  who  had 
delved  so  deeply  into  black  letter  lore.  It 
was  rumors  about  some  of  his  experi- 
ments, you  remember,  diat  finally  M to 
his  being  cropped  from  die  faculty. 

He  confid^  to  me,  twice,  that  one  of 
his  favorite  theories  was  that  of  material- 
izadon.  I don't  mean  any  spiritualist 
seance  htdcum,  with  ectofdasm  and  table- 
taf^ing  and  spirit  messages;  but  the  pow- 
er of  the  human  mind,  by  diought-concen- 
tration,  to  summon  up  in  tangible,  physi- 
cal form  objects  from  other  worlds,  wher- 
ever and  whatever  those  other  worlds  may 
be. 

None  of  us,  of  course,  took  much  stock 
in  his  hobbies  at  that  dme;  1 wish  to  God 
1 had,  for  that  might  have  saved  me — 
but  I’m  rather  running  ahead  of  myself. 

387 


388 


WEIRD  TALES 


After  the  old  chap  left  the  university, 
you  remember,  he  buried  himself  in  an 
old  hunting-lodge  up  in  the  Rockies,  and 
there  kept  on  with  his  researches.  He 
wrote  me,  once,  about  two  years  ago;  a let- 
ter as  curt  and  enigmatic  as  most  of  his 
lectures,  but  hinting  that  he  was  on  the 
verge  of  triumph  in  some  weird  experi- 
ment, and  inviting  me  to  visit  him  when- 
ever I could  find  the  time. 

It  was  just  a couple  of  weeks  later  that 
'we  read  of  the  poor  old  beggar’s  uncanny 
death;  you,  of  course,  were  abroad  at  the 
time,  and  may  not  have  heard  many  of  the 
details.  A couple  of  hunters  found  his 
body  stretched  on  the  floor  of  his  cabin, 
his  head  and  throat  incredibly  mangled. 
It  might  have  been  the  woric  of  a puma  or 
some  other  giant  cat,  so  far  as  appearances 
went;  but  it  couldn’t  have  been,  for  the 
door  and  every  window  of  the  lodge  were 
lodted. 

In  faa,  there  was  no  end  of  mystery 
and  to-do  about  it,  for  weeks.  The  thing 
was  so  inexplicable  that  the  hunters  who 
had  found  him  were  under  suspicion,  for 
a time;  but  their  records  were  clean,  and 
there  was  no  possible  motive  for  murder, 
so  they  were  released,  and  the  case  lapsed 
into  the  long  list  of  unsolved  enigmas. 

Three  months  or  so  later,  a business  trip 
took  me  to  the  cdast,  and  set  me  thinking 
once  more  of  Sharpies.  I had  always  had 
a deep  admiration  for  the  old  chap,  and  I 
believe  that  in  his  gruff  way  he  was  fond 
of  me,  too.  It  hurt  me  to  think  that  I had- 
n’t had  a chance  of  accepting  his  invita- 
tion to  visit  him;  and  then  the  fancy 
jseized  me  to  pay  a sort  of  posthumous 
call;  at  any  rate,  to  visit  the  spot  where  he 
had  met  his  end. 

It  lay  on  a God-forsaken  slope  in  the 
Rockies,  twenty  miles  from  the  nearest 
settlement;  and  I spent  the  better  part  of  a 
day  scrambling  up  the  rocky  incline  and 
cutting  my  way  through  festering  under- 


growth that  twined,  snake-like,  round  my 
legs. 

IT  WAS  just  growing  dusk  when  I finally 
reached  the  lodge,  a solitary  log  struc- 
ture, bathed  in  a blood-red  glow  from  the 
setting  sun,  as  I approached  it.  A single, 
dying  pine  tree  stood  like  a mournful  sen* 
tinel  beside  the  building;  for  the  rest,  the 
landscape  was  a boulder-strewn  waste, 
with  an  occasional  clump  of  bushes  in  the 
distance. 

The  place  would  have  been  gloomy 
enough,  even  at  midday;  and  I give  you 
my  word  that  in  the  gathering  shadows  I 
felt  a distina  physical  chill  as  I opened 
the  door  of  the  lodge. 

The  building  consisted  of  three  rooms; 
a large  reaangular  living-room,  with  a 
tiny  bedroom  and  a kitchen  opening  off  it, 
on  the  left.  A huge  stone  fireplace,  fully 
twelve  feet  wide,  and  towering  to  the  ceil- 
ing, was  built  into  the  right-hand  wall. 

The  furniture,  of  the  simplest,  had  been 
left  apparently  just  as  it  was  during 
Sharpies’  lifetime.  'There  was  a large, 
plain  wooden  table,  piled  high  with  dog- 
eared volumes,  almost  any  one  of  which 
would  have  been  evidence  enough  to  send 
the  old  man  to  the  stake,  a few  centuries 
ago;  an  armchair,  a few  other  chairs,  and  a 
battered  trunk;  and  every  item  in  the  col- 
leaion  semed  to  be  enveloped  in  an  al- 
most tangible  aura  of  sinister  isolation. 

The  other  rooms  were  furnished  in  just 
as  Spartan  style.  A tousled  cot,  a single 
chair  and  a shelf  piled  high  with  more 
books  were  all  that  were  to  be  seen  in  the 
bedroom;  in  the  kitchen,  a few  granite 
dishes,  cooking-utensils  and  a small  shelf, 
piled  with  canned  foods. 

By  now,  night  had  fallen  in  earnest,  and 
I found  the  cabin  growing  momentarily 
chillier,  both  physically  and  mentally.  And 
it  didn’t  make  matters  any  the  more  cheer- 
ful when,  playing  my  electric  torch  over 


THE  FLAME  FIEND 


389 


the  floor,  I perceived  several  dark  blotches 
in  front  of  the  fireplace;  reminders  of  the 
unexplained  tragedy  those  walls  had  wit- 
ness^. 

I had  brought  food  with  me,  prepared 
for  an  overnight  stay  in  the  cabin,  but  at 
that  moment  the  prospea  was  far  from 
appealing  to  me.  However,  I wasn't  anx- 
ious to  tackle  that  twenty-mile  trek  back 
to  the  village,  by  dark;  and  then,  a sudden 
savage  patter  of  rain  on  the  roof  helped 
me  make  up  my  mind.  The  cabin  would 
be  my  shelter,  until  dawn,  at  least. 

I found  a pile  of  pine  knots  beside  the 
cabin,  and  with  an  armful  of  these  soon 
had  a fire  blazing,  which  helped  to  dispel 
the  gloom.  As  I munched  my  solitary 
meal,  the  rain  kept  up  its  tattoo  on  the 
roof,  and  several  vicious  lightning  flashes 
tore  a passage  through  the  air,  just  outside 
the  window;  but  I preferred  even  the 
storm’s  accompaniment  to  the  tomb-like 
stillness  that  had  preceded  it. 

After  supper,  with  the  aid  of  a kero- 
sene lamp  that  I discovered  in  the  kitchen, 
I started  on  a more  thorough  inspeaion  of 
the  place,  and  my  heart  was  touched  at  the 
evidences  of  the  hermit-like  life  poor  old 
Sharpies  must  have  led;  to  say  nothing  of 
the  unexplained  gruesomeness  of  his 
death. 

I could  hardly  hope  to  find  anything 
that  would  shed  any  light  on  that,  of 
course,  since  the  cabin  had  been  thorough- 
ly searched  at  the  time;  so  I turned  to  an 
examination  of  the  old  man’s  books. 

I doubt  if  anywhere  else  on  this  conti- 
nent you  could  have  found  such  a library 
of  occult  lore,  of  sorcery  and  necromancy 
from  the  days  of  earliest  Egypt  down  to 
Twentieth  Century  psychic  research.  As 
the  tempest’s  fury  swelled,  outside,  I 
turned  the  pages  of  one  cabalistic  volume 
after  another.  They  weren’t  the  sort  of 
thing  to  be  fathomed  at  a glance;  but  the 
little  that  I gathered  from  them  opened 


up  vistas  of  things  imseen  and  unthink- 
able, that  appalled  me. 

I tell  you,  Archer,  there  are  not  only 
more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are 
dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy,  but  there 
are  far  more  in  hell,  too;  for  in  those 
printed  pages  I saw  things  hinted  at,  that 
could  only  emanate  from  the  deepest  hell 
of  hells.  And  as  for  what  followed 

Finally,  between  the  pages  of  one  in- 
credible tome,  a translation  from  the  an- 
cient Egyptian,  I fell  upon  something  of 
a far  deeper  personal  interest — a pad  of 
scribbling-paper,  covered  with  a familiar 
scrawl — ^the  handwriting  of  old  Sharpies 
himself,  as  cryptic  a hieroglyph  as  any 
ever  inscribed  on  the  oldest  pyramids. 

It  appeared  to  be  a diary,  in  which  he 
had  recorded  his  progress  with  experi- 
ments of  some  sort,  but  so  laconically 
that  I could  gather  little  from  them.  The 
last  entry  was  dated — as  nearly  as  I could 
recall — four  or  five  days  before  the  find- 
ing of  his  body. 

"Threshold  of  trjumfdi  at  last,”  it  read. 
"Tonight  — final  proof  . . . danger  if 
control  falters  . . . formula  of  Sothmi 
should  suffice.” 

'Then  I glanced  at  the  book  in  which  I 
had  found  the  notes.  From  the  page  at 
which  it  was  open,  I read: 

Notable  among  such  elementals  is  the  sala> 
mander,  the  spirit  of  fire.  This  being,  Sothmi 
describes  as  having  the  aspect  of  a giant  lizard, 
with  protruding  fangs  and  claws  . . . 

At  that  moment  the  light  of  the  kero- 
sene lamp  flickered  and  vanished,  leaving 
the  room  illuminated  only  by  the  dancing 
rays  of  the  fire.  I saw  that  the  lamp  was 
empty;  so  I heaped  another  armful  of  pine 
knots  on  the  blaze,  and  drew  the  armchair 
up  closer  to  it. 

I HAD  brought  the  book  with  me,  but  as 
a particularly  vivid  flash  of  lightning 
stabbed  the  darkness  outside,  and  a clap 


390 


WEIRD  TALES 


of  thunder  siiarled  in  its  wake,  I hesitated 
to  read  on.  My  mind  and  feet  seemed  to 
be  treading  a dangerous  labyrinth,  whose 
tortuous  windings  might  lead  at  least  to 
madness,  if  not  to  some  abyss  of  hell. 

As  the  fire  crackled,  and  the  flames 
leaped  hungrily  ever  higher  toward  the 
ceiling,  I gazed  into  their  glowing  depths. 
Strange,  I thou^t,  that  my  mind  should 
so  focus  on  the  &e  when  a moment  before 
I had  been  reading  of  the  mythical  spirit 
of  fire.  But  after  all,  was  it  so  strange.’ 

lhat  uncanny  snatch  of  description  was 
running  through  my  mind — "the  aspea 
of  a giant  lizard,  with  protruding  fangs 
and  claws” — and  I tried,  blind  fool  that  I 
was,  to  conjure  up  a mental  image  of  such 
a being. 

Of  course,  I told  myself,  it  was  prepos- 
terous to  sit  in  the  Twentieth  Century  of 
Christian  civilization  and  dream  of  a aea- 
ture  of  five-thousand-year-old  fable.  And 
3^,  those  words  obtruded  still  on  every 
cell  of  my  brain — "the  aspea  of  a giant 
lizard,  with  protruding  fangs  and  claws.” 

By  now,  I was  staring  into  the  fire  with 
the  fixed  fascination  of  a crystal-gazer. 
There’s  a hypnotic  force  about  a blazing 
flame.  Archer;  small  wonder,  I refleaed, 
that  primitive  races  had  either  deified  it, 
or  at  least  imbued  it  with  a personal  spirit 
— the  salamandef. 

As  I gazed  into  the  fire,  an  illusion 
gradually  grew  upon  me  that  my  brain 
was  whirling  round  and  round  in  a circle, 
at  the  center  of  which  aouched  the  figure 
the  book  had  desaibed — "a  giant  lizard, 
with  protruding  fangs  and  claws.”  . . . 

I grant  you.  Archer,  that  that  was  pure 
illusion;  auto-hypnosis,  if  you  will.  But 
what  followed  wasn’t. 

For  suddenly,  above  the  roar  of  the 
storm  outside,  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire 
— which  had  now  grown  so  hot  that  I 
had  moved  my  chair  back  from  it  — I 
heard  a sound  which  turned  me  cold  with 


dread,  as  no  sound  has  ever  dene  before 
or  since. 

It  was  a peculiar,  sibilant  hiss,  which 
came  to  my  ears  as  clearly  as  though  all 
else  had  been  dead  silence.  It  wasn’t  un- 
like the  hiss  of  an  angry  cobra,  if  you’ve 
ever  heard  that  none-too-pleasant  sound; 
but  it  possessed,  too,  some  incredible,  ur^- 
earthly  quality  which  set  my  head  reeling 
with  involuntary  nausea. 

And  above  all,  it  appeared  to  come 
from  the  very  center  of  the  fire. 

For  a moment  I looked  backward  to- 
ward the  door,  and  pondered  the  possi- 
bility of  breaking  away  and  spending  the 
night  even  in  the  open,  in  that  downpour 
of  rain,  if  necessary.  But  then  I got  a 
tighter  grip  on  my  nerves;  and,  trying  to 
convince  myself  against  my  own  knowl- 
edge, that  it  was  all  imagination,  I turned 
to  face  the  fire  once  more. 

As  I did  so,  that  diabolical  hiss  came 
once  more,  followed  by  a peculiar,  stertor- 
ous grunting;  and  then,  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  flame,  I beheld  something  gradual- 
ly assuming  visible  form. 

First  it  appeared  to  be  a mist,  or  vapor; 
and  then,  out  of  the  mist,  two  dreadful 
green  spots  glowed,  like  searchlights  play- 
ing from  the  very  bowels  of  hell.  And 
then  the  mist  seemed  to  settle  into  a solid 
outline — sudi  an  outline  that  I screamed 
aloud  in  horror  of  soul,  and  sprang  from 
my  chair,  and  would  have  burst  out  into 
the  night,  but  in  a twinkling  the  ungodly 
thing  had  leaped  straight  from  the  heart 
of  the  flame  and  gripped  me  by  the  throat. 

Archer,  this  is  the  living  truth,  I swear 
it,  as  I am  a living  man  this  moment.  I 
haven’t  words  — human  tongue  hasn’p 
power — to  describe  adequately  that  foul 
spawn  of  Satan  that  had  materialized 
from  thin  air  before  my  very  eyes. 

'The  description  I had  just  read — "a 
giant  lizard,  with  protruding  fangs  and 
claws” — fitted  it,  as  far  as  it  went,  but  it 


THE  FLAME  FIEND 


391 


didn’t  begin  to  picture  the  soul-sickening 
repulsiveness  of  the  objea. 

It  wasn’t  unlike  a Gila  monster  in  gen- 
eral appearance,  if  you  can  conceive  of  a 
Gila  monster  five  feet  in  length,  with  a 
slimy  black  body  and  ghastly  horned  head, 
eyes  that  glowed  alternately  red  and 
green,  fang-like  teeth  projeaing  from  a 
satanically  slavering  mouth,  and  forelegs 
with  claws  like  those  of  an  eagle. 

And  this  unutterable  horror  was  the 
Thing  that  had  torn  the  life  from  poor 
old  Sharpies’  body.  I realized  that,  in  the 
same  twinkling  of  an  eye  that  it  had  cata- 
pulted itself  upon  me. 

I was  so  unnerved  in  soul  and  body  that 
a breath  of  wind  could  almost  have 
floored  me,  and  I collapsed  like  a rag  be- 
neath the  spring  of  the  monster.  "Then,  as 
I found  myself  flat  on  the  floor,  with  its 
ruthless  talons  sinking  into  my  throat,  and 
its  foul  face  pressed  close  to  mine,  its 
breath  searing  me  like  a blast  from  hell, 
despair  gave  me  new  strength. 

I don’t  know  whether  old  Sharpies  was 
there  in  spirit,  aiding  me  in  my  battle 
against  that  atrocity  from  the  shades,  or 
not,  but  I dug  both  hands  into  the  crea- 
ture’s throat,  and  twined  its  legs  about  its 
flopping  body,  with  the  grip  of  a boa  con- 
striaor. 

Even  in  that  heaic  accumulation  of 
horror  upon  horror,  I experienced  a fresh 
twinge  of  nausea  to  find  that  although  the 
Thing  had  emerged  from  the  heart  of  the 
flame,  its  body  was  as  iqr  cold  as  though 
fresh  from  a tomb. 

Old  Dante  himself^  Archer,  could 
scarcely  have  painted  in  one-tenth  of  its 
ghastliness  a word-piaure  of  the  struggle 
there  in  that  lonely  cabin,  with  thunder, 
lightning  and  rain  outside  lending  a fit- 
ting accompaniment. 

It  seemed  like  hours — in  reality  it  can’t 
have  been  five  minutes,  for  no  human  be- 
ing could  have  lived  so  long  in  such  un- 
equal combat — that  I tossed  and  grappled 


with  that  awful  ’Thing.  I felt,  in  my  heart 
of  hearts,  that  the  struggle  was  vain;  that 
I couldn’t  hope  to  kill,  or  even  to  over- 
come, this  Thing  which  wasn’t  of  earth. 
But  still,  with  the  frenzy  of  despair,  I 
tore  at  its  neck  and  kicked  at  its  pulpy 
body,  as  those  savage  talons  bit  into  my 
shoulders  and  that  unspeakable  mouth, 
with  its  protruding  fangs,  hovered  close 
above  mine. 

And  then  the  bestial  jaws  opened  wid- 
er, and  I knew  the  end  was  at  hand,  and 
I prayed  to  God  as  I’ve  never  prayed  be- 
fore, that  it  might  come  with  merciful 
quickness. 

And  it  did.  There  was  a sudden,  blind- 
ing flash,  and  then  a crumbling,  rattling, 
roaring  sound  as  though  the  universe  it- 
self were  falling  in  ruins;  something 
crashed  on  my  head,  and  then — oblivion. 

You  probably  don’t  believe  in  mir- 
acles, Archer,  but  I do,  ever  since  that 
night.  I’m  firmly  convinced  that  it  is  due 
to  divine  intervention  that  I’m  alive  today. 

When  the  mists  lifted  from  my  brain, 
I lay  in  a pile  of  stone  wreckage  on  the 
floor  of  the  cabin,  racked  with  agony  in 
every  limb.  My  first  conscious  thought 
was  of  that  fiend  from  the  shades;  then, 
as  I raised  my  head  slowly,  to  look  for  it, 
I realized  that  it  had  vanished,  and  that 
the  blessed  light  of  day  was  streaming  in 
the  windows. 

No,  no.  Archer,  it  wasn’t  a dream. 
Here — just  a minute  until  I loosen  my 
collar;  you’ll  notice  that  I wear  it  particu- 
larly high.  Do  you  see  those  scars  on  my 
throat?  No  dream  could  have  put  them 
there.  If  those  unholy  claws  had  gone  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  farther,  they’d  have 
torn  my  jugular  vein  open. 

Well,  explanations  are  always  an  anti- 
climax, so  I’ll  cut  mine  as  short  as  pos- 
sible, combining  what  I observed  there 
and  what  I learned  later,  from  a closer 
study  of  Sharpies’  books. 


392 


WEIRD  TALES 


The  thing  that  had  killed  Sharpies,  and 
come  within  an  ace  of  doing  the  same  to 
me,  Archer — you  won’t  believe  it,  I know 
— was,  literally,  a salamander,  one  of 
chose  elemental  beings  which  form  a con- 
neaing  link  between  this  world  and  some 
world  beyond. 

An  elemental,  of  course,  is  a disem- 
bodied thing,  only  capable  of  aaion  if  it 
can  get  control  of  a physical  body  as  an 
instrument.  And  old  Sharpies  had  aeated 
such  an  instrument  for  this  creature. 

Those  diabolical  old  volumes  of  his 
contained,  among  many  secrets,  the  ritual 
to  be  followed  in  the  summoning  of  an 
elemenul  in  material  form.  The  theory 
was  that  by  sheer  concentration  of  will- 
power, an  adept,  or  sorcerer — call  him 
what  you  will — could  create  a material 
body  or  shell  for  such  a spirit. 

In  the  case  of  the  salamander,  there 
were  two  essentials:  first,  the  concentra- 
tion of  the  mind,  and  secondly,  a strong, 
hot  fire — the  native  element  of  the  aea- 
ture.  And  old  Sharpies  had  succeeded,  as 
he  had  dreamed  of  doing,  in  actually  in- 
carnating the  monster  which  had  cost  him 
his  life. 

The  materialization  was  a limited  one, 
as  all  such  materializations  are,  thank 
God;  limited  as  to  place  and  time.  The 
salamander  was  fettered,  you  might  say, 
to  that  spot;  it  could  move  only  a few 
feet  from  the  flames-  in  whidi  it  had 
sprung  into  being,  and  it  demateriallzed 
once  more,  the  moment  the  flames  died. 

But  once  summoned  into  aaual  exist- 
ence, probably  for  the  first  time  in  a score 
of  centuries,  the  Thing  was  still  chained, 
unseen,  at  that  spot;  and  hence,  far  less 
concentration  of  thought  was  necessary 
o summon  it  a second  time.  'The  fire, 
md  the  involuntary  focusing  of  my  mind 
on  what  I had  read,  were  sufficient. 

Then  came  the  miracle  that  saved  me. 


at  the  moment  when  it  seemed  that  scarce- 
ly even  a miracle  could  intervene. 

In  that  instant  when  that  hell-born 
creature’s  fangs  were  at  the  point  of  meet- 
ing in  my  throat,  a lightning  bolt  bad 
struck  the  stone  chimney  of  the  cabin, 
and  had  sent  it  crashing  inward,  shatter- 
ing the  fireplace  and  instantly  extinguish- 
ing the  flames — with  the  consequence 
that  the  salamander’s  material  body  had 
evaporated  into  the  air  from  which  it  had 
emanated. 

'That’s  my  story,  Archer,  and — well, 
just  a point  or  two  more,  perhaps. 

As  I say,  I realized  later  that  that 
damnable  'Thing  was  still  lurking  invisi- 
ble within  the  cabin,  thirsting  with  all  its 
unholy  force  for  another  opportunity  of 
taking  physical  form. 

There  wasn’t  much  likelihood  of  that, 
perhaps,  since  the  fireplace  was  irrewiev- 
ably  shattered,  and  even  if  any  wayfarer 
in  that  desolate  region  had  chanced  to 
build  a fire  there,  there’ d be  praaically  no 
chance  of  his  turning  his  thoughts  in  a 
dangerous  direaion. 

But,  I was  resolved  to  take  no  chances 
on  its  ever  being  loosed  on  human  eyes 
again;  so  I did  probably  a high-handed 
and  unlawful  thing.  A week  later  I 
climbed  that  tonuous  mountain  slope 
again,  and  laid  a charge  of  dynamite  be- 
neath the  cabin,  which  leveled  it  in  a tan- 
gle of  wreckage,  to  the  ground. 

Sharpies’  books  I removed  first,  poured 
kerosene  over  them,  and  set  them  alight 
— with  a long  fuse,  incidentally,  for  I 
preferred  to  be  a couple  of  miles  from 
the  spot  when  those  sinister  pages  flared 
into  flame. 

There’s  nothing  more  to  add,  except 
that  from  that  day  to  this  I’ve  never  dared 
to  face  flame,  for  fear  my  mind,  in  sheer 
defiance  of  my  sanity,  may  focus  there 
once  more,  and  summon  up  some  other 
lurking  messenger  from  hell. 


HALLOWE'EN  at  the  Hotel  Al- 
cazar. Jazz,  rainbow  balloons, 
masks,  carnival! 

And  in  a room  on  the  fourth  floor  a 
girl,  returned  from  a rendezvous  with  the 
dead. 

She  pressed  cold  fingers  against  her  ears, 
till  her  head  filled  with  a hollow  roaring. 
She  could  not  do  that  for  long.  Let  them 
play!  Dance  music  for  the  gay,  the  young! 

Dropping  her  hands,  she  resumed  her 
pacing  of  the  room,  only  to  halt  yet  again 
before  a photograph  on  the  dressing-table. 
"Peter!” 

She  stood  looking  into  the  large  eyes,  at 


the  mouth  which  six  weeks  ago  . . . 

That  music!  Every  note  was  drawn 
from  her  taut  nerves. 

Hallowe’en!  The  eve  of  All  Hallows’ 
Day,  of  the  day  of  the  blessed  dead.  He 
had  given  his  life  for  another.  For  a little 
child  whom  he  did  not  know.  Inasmuch  as 
ye  do  it  unto  the  least  of  one  of  these  little 
children.  . . . Yes,  of  a certainty  he  was 
among  the  "blessed  dead.’’ 

She  had  come  eagerly,  as  to  a tryst.  The 
hope  of  this  journey  had  been  anodyne. 
For  it  she  had  schemed  and  deceived,  had 
written  to  a friend;  not  a friend  attuned  to 
her  despair,  a very  gay  friend,  but  a friend 

393 


394 


WEIRD  TALES 


now  prized  because  living  in  New  York. 
And  the  reply  had  been  both  gay  and 
friendly. 

"By  all  means,  come.  New  York  will 
do  you  good.  Moping  never  helped  any- 
body, alive  or  dead.” 

Her  parents  had  consented,  surprized, 
relieved. 

But  between  the  date  which  she  had 
given  her  family  and  that  which  she  had 
given  her  light-hearted  friend  there  was  a 
discrepancy.  She  had  cheated  from  the 
pattern  two  days  for  herself  in  New  York 
— days  of  rendezvous. 

For  she  had  not  been  able  to  accept 
death  submissively.  The  family  clergy- 
man had  come,  wise  and  kind.  She  had 
thanked  him.  No  tears.  No  unburdening. 

She  had  found  that  she  had  no  faith. 
She  had  found  that  faith  would  not  do. 
She  must  know. 

She  had  haunted  public  libraries,  had 
bought  many  books.  She  read  all  she  could 
find  for  and  against  a future  life.  Oh,  yes, 
both  sides.  Ray  Lankester,  Clodd,  other 
agnostics.  The  stiffer-brained  psychic  re- 
searchers. The  vast  literature  of  slop  about 
survival  she  discarded  as  an  insult.  G)ld 
academic  things  like  Balfour’s  Ear  of 
Dionysius  brought  comfort.  It  seemed  that 
she  could  hope,  and  yet  be  rational. 

Then  she  had  .taken  her  resolve.  She 
would  communicate  with  Peter.  It  had  be- 
come an  obsession.  To  hear  from  him  that 
he  lived,  that  he  forgave. 

In  New  York  she  would  ask  the  Insti- 
tute of  Psychic  Science  for  a medium 
known  to  them  as  honest.  She  would  be 
rational,  she  would  not  fool  herself.  She 
would  ask  Peter  to  give  her  something 
evidential.  'Then,  proof  of  Peter’s  identity 
having  been  given,  she  would  beg  him  to 
forgive,  would  tell  him  how  desperately 
she  now  loved  him. 

Five  weeks  today.  She  had  just  finished 
that  difficult  letter  to  Peter.  If  she 


posted  it  at  once,  he  would  have  it  before 
he  left  New  York  to  come  to  her  for  the 
week-end.  As  she  put  on  her  hat  and  coat, 
she  had  been  called  to  the  telephone. 

A telegram  that  Peter  was  dead.  Killed 
in  a street  accident,  saving  a strange  child 
from  an  oncoming  motorbus. 

Telling  no  one  of  the  message,  she  had 
returned  to  her  room,  had  locked  the  door, 
and  had  burned  her  letter  to  Peter. 

’Then  she  had  sat  down,  and  had  stared 
at  the  opposite  wall.  Her  brain  had  be- 
come a gramophone  record.  It  rasped  out 
words  of  the  telephone  message,  scraps  of 
the  letter  just  destroyed. 

. . ..regret  to  inform  you  that  Peter 
Edgington — dear  Peter  for  some  time  I 
have  been  fighting — killed  in  a street  acci- 
dent— fighting  the  realization  that  you  and 
I — saving  a child  . . . 

It  became  incredible  that  an  hour  ago 
she  had  decided  Peter  too  iminteresting  to 
spend  her  life  with;  had  decided  that  even 
as  a lover  he  had  a little  too  much  manner, 
was  a little  theatrical! 

She  remembered  only  their  swift  ro- 
mance, his  impulsive  ardor.  And  having 
tired  of  him  living,  she  had  fallen  the 
more  desperately  in  love  with  him  dead. 

Of  the  burned  letter,  the  disloyalty,  she 
told  no  one.  Remorse  edged  her  grief. 
She — false  to  her  word,  false  to  the  beauty, 
radiant  if  nebulous,  of  their  dramatic 
courtship — she  had  presumed  to  think  him 
dull!  His  letters  might  not  have  been — 
well,  brilliant — but  he  had  been  loyal,  he 
had  been  fine,  in  death  he  had  been  heroic. 

Her  mind  knew  only  the  beauty  of  their 
love,  the  tragedy  of  his  death,  and  a pas- 
sionate remorse. 

Arrived  that  morning  in  New  York, 
- she  had  gone  at  once  to  the  Institute 
of  Psychic  Science. 

Yes,  they  could  recommend  a medium, 
absolutely  trustworthy,  and  with  a record 
of  excellent  results. 


GESTURE 


395 


Could  she  have  a sitting  today?  If  suc- 
cessful, another  tomorrow?  She  was  only 
in  New  York  for  a brief  time. 

The  secretary,  a brisk,  intelligent 
woman,  had  offered  to  telephone  Mrs. 
Parmenter.  She  did  so. 

Yes,  that  afternoon  at  five  o’clock. 
What  name? 

And  her  name  had  soimded  in  her  own 
ears  like  that  of  a stranger.  For  these  two 
days  were  to  be  quite  outside  the  pattern  of 
her  life,  beyond  the  strange  human  labels 
people  bore. 

Besides,  what  did  it  matter?  'The  secre- 
tary was  used  to  such  requests.  No  one 
else  was  in  the  room,  excepting  a man  who 
had  entered  and  who  was  engrossed  in 
some  pamphlets  spread  out  on  a table. 

The  secretary  then  wrote  Mrs.  Par- 
menter’s  address  on  a slip  of  paper. 

"Would  it  be  all  tight  if  I were  to  take 
notes?  I might  want  to  consult  them 
later.” 

"By  all  means.  Mrs.  Parmenter  prefers 
her  clients  to  take  notes.” 

As  she  put  the  slip  of  paper  in  her  hand- 
bag and  turned  to  go,  she  saw  the  seaetary 
smile  familiarly  to  the  next  "customer.” 

"So  glad  the  sittings  are  being  success- 
ful. I have  that  list  of  books  ready  for 
you,  and  I am  arranging  for  a third  me- 
dium for  you  to  try.” 

It  was  all  as  crisp  and  business-like  as 
the  selling  of  groceries. 

And  the  seance  had  been — a ghastly 
- failure! 

Mrs.  Parmenter,  a plump  woman  in  a 
neglig^,  had  greeted  her  with  kind  im- 
personality, and  had  told  her  to  sit  quietly. 

Mrs.  Parmenter  had  closed  her  eyes, 
and  after  a few  minutes  had  begun  to 
breathe  in  an  odd,  heavy  manner,  then  to 
mumble.  At  last  words  had  come: 

"Confusion — oh,  so  much  confusion! 
Conditions  are  bad — very  bad.  Several 
people  want  to  speak  to  you.  An  old 


gentleman — has  a gray  mustache — says 
he  is  your  grandfather  — very  sorry  for 
you.” 

It  was  all  in  the  notes.  All  futile  and 
pointless.  A grandfather  was  a safe  guess. 
Mrs.  Parmenter  was  doubtless  honest.  But 
Mrs.  Parmenter’s  subconscious  no  sane 
person  could  trust. 

There  had  followed  generalities  appli- 
cable to  any  grandfather.  True,  they  did 
apply  to  her  own  grandfather,  but  not 
necessarily  exclusively  to  him. 

"You  are  in  trouble — oh,  yes,  in  deep 
trouble!” 

So  were  most  clients  of  mediums. 

'Then  that  saccharine  message:  "Your 
grandfather  says  that  you  are  not  to  be  so 
unhappy,  that  happiness  is  close  to  you.” 

Kind,  that.  Of  Mrs.  Parmenter’s  sub- 
conscious. 

Next  had  come  a jumble  of  incoheren- 
cies, irrelevant  things  that  were  disturb- 
ingly reminiscent  of  ignominious  fortune- 
telling. And  yet — a strange,  eery  feeling 
was  creeping  over  her,  a feeling  as  if  some 
third  presence  were  in  the  room. 

"A  dark  man” — Peter  had  had  bright 
red  hair! — "I  get  something  about  dancing 
— dance  music — and  a mask!” 

She  tried  to  be  scientific.  She  knew  that 
genuine  messages  had  to  filter  throu^  the 
subconscious  mind  of  the  medium,  that 
they  were  often  interlarded  between  hap- 
hazard tags  of  the  conscious  mind.  Mrs. 
Parmenter  was  getting  muddled  up  with 
Hallowe’en  festivities. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Parmenter  stiffened.  "I 
can’t  get  through — confusion.  But  I get 
help  for  you.  I see  a black  mask” — (most 
masks  were  black) — "and,  yes,  a dark 
man.”  (Oh,  those  dark  men  of  the  palm- 
ists!) 

And  despite  her  skepticism,  a shudder 
as  if  a chill  from  another  world  passed 
over  her  at  the  words — a black  mask. 

"I’m  sorry,  Mrs.  Parmenter,  I know  you 
are  trying.”  The  sitter  must  show  a sympa- 


396 


WEIRD  TALES 


thetic  attitude.  "Won’t  you,  please,  try  a 
little  longer.^’’ 

She  realized  that  the  seance  was  about 
to  dose — a failure.  She  threw  overboard 
hopes  of  evidential  proofs. 

"Mrs.  Parmenter,  I want  very  much, 
very  much,  to  communicate  with  a red- 
haired  man  who  died  recently." 

And  this  she  said,  not  for  her  own  sake, 
but  on  the  remote  chance  of  it  reaching 
Peter.  No  comfort  for  her  in  helping  out 
Mrs.  Parmenter.  But  if  Mrs.  Parmenter 
had  power,  if  this  were  merely  one  of 
those  inexplicable  bad  sittings  which  even 
great  mediums  at  times  had,  it  might  reach 
Peter. 

"Only  this,  Mrs.  Parmenter,  ask  him  to 
forgive  me.” 

Oh,  it  had  been  too  distressing.  Poor 
Mrs.  Parmenter’s  subconscious,  or  control, 
or  whatever  it  was  that  was  bungling  so 
ludicrously,  caught  at  that  word  "for- 

* II 

give. 

"Yes — yes — he  is  here — he  is  HERE — 
oh,  very  distressed — forgive — forgive — 
h^s  saying  that,  dear — begs  you  to  forgive 
him — to  forgive  him — why,  that’s  what 
you  said  yourself — says  forgive  and  forget 
him"  . . . 

She  had  risen.  "Thank  you,  Mrs.  Par- 
menter. That — ^will  do.” 

SHE  stood  looking  at  his  photograph. 

She  was  very  tired.  For  weeks  she  had 
eaten  hardly  anything.  For  weeks  she  had 
slept  badly.  For  weeks  her  awakenings 
had  been  recurring  shocks;  that  nightmare 
return  of  consciousness,  return  of  memory. 

She  turned  again  to  the  notes  of  the  se- 
ance. They  were  already  flabby  from  much 
handling.  Was  there  something  she  had 
missed?  Some  chink  through  which  a 
glimmer  had  shone  for  her? 

As  she  turned  the  pages,  a knock  sound- 
ed on  her  door.  She  started.  Then  she 
opened.  The  music  came  more  loudly  to 
her: 


"Oh,  where  have  you  been  all  my  life?" 

A bellboy  handed  her  a snull  packet.  It 
was  addressed  to  her.  But  ho  one  knew  she 
was  here! 

The  boy  gone,  she  tore  off  the  wrap- 
pings. 

A black  velvet  mask!  Nothing  more. 

Some  mistake.  But  her  name  on  the 
paper!  She  examined  it  as  if  it  were  a 
cipher.  She  could  find  nothing  unusual, 
unless  a small  flaw  in  the  edge  that  would 
rest  on  the  left  cheek  were  of  importance. 
A small  flaw,  as  if  someone  had  snipped 
out  a V. 

She  dropped  it  on  the  bed. 

Again  she  heard  Mrs.  Parmenter’s  en- 
tranced voice — a mask — a black  mask! 

But  she  had  read  of  nothing  like  this. 
True,  the  other  world  was 'reported  often 
to  signal  through  normal  channels.  But  a 
bellboy,  a scrap  of  velvet — it  was  too  mun- 
dane for  her  to  accept. 

But  from  where  then  did  it  come? 

Oh,  was  it  all  a monstrous  delusion? 
Were  the  results  of  even  the  sanest  investi- 
gators the  mere  amassing  of  data  on  some 
as  yet  not-understood  vagaries  of  the  sub- 
conscious mind? 

She  looked  at  the  black  mask.  Was  this 
her  sign?  And  if  so,  what  its  significance? 

Still  dance  music  drifted  up  to  her 
room: 

"Oh,  where  have  you  been  all  my  life?” 

It  must  be  that  she  was  to  join  the  revel- 
lers, there  to  receive  some  message,  meet 
some  envoy. 

Opening  her  trunk,  she  feverishly 
pulled  out  an  evening  gown.  As  she  flung 
off  the  negligee  she  had  been  wearing, 
part  of  her  brain  smiled  derisively.  People 
had  warned  her  that  dabbling  in  "Spirit- 
ualism” ended  in  lunacy. 

At  this  moment  she  might  be  insane. 
'That  mask,  black  on  the  white  bed,  might 
be  a figment  of  her  disordered  brain.  She 
had  read  those  notes  too  often.  No  bell- 


GESTURE 


397 


boy,  perhaps,  had  called  at  her  door.  Well, 
of  course,  if  she  were  to  reason  that  way, 
jinything  might  |>e  nothing.-  She  might  not 
even  be  in  New  York. 

She  picked  up  the  mask. 

Was  she  going  to  meet  Peter,  or  a mes- 
sage from  him?  She  rouged  her  lips.  Was 
this  the  fantasy  of  hysteria,  was  there  no 
future,  was  Peter  dead?  By  all  means  then 
let  her  gaud  herself  to  meet  such  a mock- 
ery. 

From  the  elevator  she  alighted  on  the 
mezzanine  floor.  She  would  wait.  It 
was  less  crowded  here  than  on  the  ground 
floor.  Her  mask  made  her  indifferent  to 
stray  glances. 

And  to  her  they  were  a drifting  picture 
— these  hadcneyed  carnival  marionettes. 

A black-and-white  Pierrot  was  looking 
at  her.  He  was  alone.  He  approached.  He 
was  at  her  side.  He  bent  to  her. 

"Thank  you  for  coming.”  His  voice 
was  deferential. 

She  looked  up  into  a black  velvet  mask. 
His  gaze  seemed  on  the  missing  V in  her 
own  mask. 

“From  whom  do  you  come?”  she  said 
slowly. 

"From  no  one.  None  the  less,  I have  a 
message.  But — not  yet.  It  is  a question  of 
— forgiveness.” 

She  could  not  answer. 

"Messages  do  come  through  human 
' channels.  You  know  that?” 

"Yes.  I know  that.  I have  tried.” 

"I  can  not  speak  clearly  while  you  are  so 
tired — so  weak.” 

Her  notes  beat  through  her  mind.  Dance 
music — a black  mask — a dark  man.  The 
skull-cap  of  Pierrot  hid  his  hair,  the  mask 
his  face. 

"Will  you  take  oflt  your  cap?” 

"My  cap?”  surprizedly.  Without  dis- 
lodging his  mask,  he  carefully  removed 
the  cap. 

Darit  hair. 


"Thank  you.  Why  must  I not  see  your 
face?”  she  asked  in  the  accentless  tones  she 
had  used  through  their  interview. 

'’You  do  not  want  the  message  from  a 
concrete  personality.  Let  me  remain  a 
mask.  Unless,”  he  hesitated,  "knowing 
all  I bring  you,  you  still  wish  otherwise.” 

"I  am  tired.  Say  what  you  have  to  say, 
and  let  me  return  to  my  room.” 

His  voice  was  kind.  "I  don’t  want  you 
to  do  that.  You  go  back  to  unhappiness.  I 
am  very  sure  he  does  not  want  you  to  do 
that.” 

"How  long  am  I to  sit  here — waiting? 
I can  not  go  on  talking.  It  leads  nowhere.” 

He  drew  up  a chair.  For  a moment 
neither  spoke.  A moment?  She  could  not 
say.  A moment,  or  ten  minutes.  She  had 
no  way  of  telling. 

"May  I tell  you  what  I think  he  wants 
you  to  do?” 

"Tell  me.” 

"He  wants  you  for  a little  while  to  for- 
get everything.  He  wants  you  to  come  with 
me  and  to  have  supper.  He  wants  you  to 
forget  everything.”  His  voice  had  a soft 
even  quality,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  hypno- 
tize her.  "He  wants  you  to  dance.  To 
dance  on  Hallowe’en  night,  knowing  that 
the  dead  are  not  unhappy.” 

She  was  past  astonishment.  She  made 
no  protest  at  his  incongruous  words.  He 
seemed  speaking  to  her  from  a distance. 
She  looked  wearily  at  him. 

"You  are  a man  and  young.  Scores  of 
pretty  girls  are  about  you,  some  not  too 
severe.  I will  remain  here.  Return  when 
you  feel  you  can  give  me  what  it  is  you 
have  for  me.” 

"Won’t  you  let  me  give  you  this  one 
evening?  I am  very  sorry  for  you.” 

Pity  from  a stranger!  But  she  was  too 
weak  for  resentment. 

Suddenly  he  asked  in  praaical  tones,  al- 
most the  tones  of  a physician.  "Exaaly 
how  much  have  you  eaten  today?” 

Eaten!  She  looked  up.  And  then  she 


398 


WEIRD  TALES 


knew  it  was  all  unreal.  Those  rose-velvet 
chair-things,  those  rugs  from  somewhere 
men  called  "China,”  those  carnival  shad- 
ows— they  were  but  veils  drifting  across 
her  perception. 

Again  his  quiet,  level  tones.  "Exaaly 
how  much  have  you  eaten  today?” 

"Doaors”  they  called  people  who 
talked  that  way. 

"So  you  are  a doaor?” 

"Never  mind  that.  Tell  me.” 

Since  such  a trifle  mattered  to  him,  she 
told  him.  He  rose  abruptly. 

"Come.” 

"I’m  not  hungry,  not  interested  in 
food." 

She  seemed  quite  outside  her  body,  but 
she  heard  a dull  voice  and  knew  it  to  be 
the  voice  she  used. 

And  he  was  no  longer  envoy  of  the  be- 
yond. He  was  a very  physical  identity,  by 
his  will  leading  her  into  the  elevator  . . . 
down  ...  to  a garish  supper  room. 

It  took  less  effort  to  do  what  he  bid  her. 
'Those  soothing,  even  repetitions  of  his. 
Some  chidcen  thing.  Some  tingling  drink 
which  he  helped  to  prepare.  It  burned 
through  her.  It  lit  up  her  physical  brain, 
a bescrawled  palimpsest — indelible  phrases 
— there  shall  no  heat  strike  them,  neither 
shall  the  sun  . . . Behold,  I make  all 
things  new  . . . eat,  drink,  and  be 

merry.  . . . 

She  was  again  in  her  body;  leaning  over 
an  emptied  plate,  and  emptied  glass,  gaz- 
ing into  dark  eyes  behind  a black  mask. 
And  on  the  table  lay  the  mask  which  she 
had  been  wearing. 

Her  hand  went  to  her  face  in  quick  dis- 
may. 

He  was  talking  to  her.  She  reached  out 
to  his  voice.  TTie  words  didn’t  matter. 

"Now  I can  tell  you  my  message.  I know 
your  name.  I know  that  you  were  pledged 
to  marry  Peter  Edgington.” 


Her  hands  clutched  the  edges  of  the 
table. 

"I  have  something  that  Peter  Edgington 
wants  me  to  tell  you.  He  asks  you  to  for- 
give him.”  His  voice  became  concise,  as 
if  he  knew  the  scalpel  must  be  used. 
Clearly  he  was  a doaor.  "What  I have  to 
tell  will  hurt.  Peter  died  a hero,  but  in  life 
he  was  very  human.  He  was  to  have  gone 
to  you  the  week-end  after  his  death  to  ask 
your  forgiveness  and  release.  He  had 
fallen  in  love  with  another  woman.” 

At  last  she  spoke. 

"'The  dead  are  not  here  to  defend  them- 
selves. I must  have  some  proof.” 

He  removed  his  mask.  Honest  eyes,  an 
honest  face. 

"It  was,”  he  reddened,  "my  ovra  sister 
whom  Peter  Edgington  wanted  to  marry 
when  he  died.” 

A weight  was  slipping  from  her.  Life, 
long  entranced,  stirred  again. 

"You  will  not  judge  my  sister.  She 
thought  Peter  was  free,  imtil — there 
seemed  to  them  no  going  back.” 

"1  judge!!’  She  told  him  of  the  unposted 
letter,  the  remorse,  the  return  of  love. 

"He  told  my  sister  your  name,  but  not 
where  you  lived.  After  his  death  my  sis- 
ter confided  in  me.  My  sister,  distraaed, 
determined  to  communicate  with  Peter 
Edgington’s  spirit.  I begged  that  at  least 
she  avoid  the  harpies  that  cheat  people 
who  long  to  be  cheated.  I went  for  her  to 
the  Institute  of  Psychical  Science.  She 
found  comfort.  She  had  a series  of  sittings. 
Then  she  wished  to  try  other  mediums, 
something  about  obtaining  ’cross-refer- 
ences.’ She  began  to  study  psychical  re- 
search. It  seemed  to  be  calming  her,  so  I 
have  gone  often  to  the  Institute  to  make 
necessary  arrangements  for  her.  ’This 
morning  I was  there,  turning  over  some 
pamphlets,  when  I heard  your  name,  the 
hour  and  address  of  your  appointment 
with  Mrs.  Parmenter.  I saw  you.  I knew 


THE  INVISIBLE  BOND 


399 


the  truth  would  hurt,  but  also  that  it  was 
due  to  you.” 

"Poor  Peter!” 

"I  kept  your  appointment  this  after- 
noon. I followed  you  back  to  this  hotel, 
so  as  to  know  where  to  reach  you.  You 
went  to  your  room.  I noticed  the  prepara- 
tions for  tonight’s  masquerade.  Then — I 
thought  of  sending  you  the  mask.” 

"But  you  could  not  know  I would  wear 
it.  Coincidence  alone  brought  that  about. 
The  medium’s  subconscious  was  muddled 
up  with  Hallowe’en,  and  so  she  spoke  of 
a mask,  a black  mask ” 

A strange  look  crossed  his  face. 

"Of  course,  I don’t  believe  in  this  at 
all — all  this  occult.  stuflF.  As  a medical 
man  I know  and  use  hypnotism.  'The 
rest  I mistrust.  But — it’s  most  extraor- 
dinary. I would  never  have  thought  of 
sending  you  that  mask.  It  isn’t  sensible. 


It’s  theatrical.  I’d  have  written,  asking 
the  privilege  of  a brief  interview.  But 
as  I stood  in  the  lobby  this  afternoon, 
the  idea  dropped  into  my  brain  from 
outside.  I seemed  to  hear  'a  black  mask! 
It  became  an  urge.  I had  the  incredible 
feeling  that  Peter  Edgington  wished  me 
to  tell  you  that  way.” 

He  looked  ashamed  at  talking  so 
frayedly,  and  hastened  to  add  sanely,  "Of 
course  I knew  that  tomorrow  I could  still 
ask  for  my  interview,  if  you  did  not  come 
tonight.” 

She  gazed  at  him  .with  clear,  steady 
eyes. 

"Will  you  dance?”  he  asked  shyly. 

She  rose.  And  as  she  smiled,  she 
knew  why  it  was  that  Peter  would  have 
none  of  the  “privilege  of  a brief  inter- 
view” idea.  Also,  dear  Peter  had  always 
loved  a gesture! 


i.. 

The  Invisible  Bond 

(Continued  from  page  301) 


came.  Presently  we  caught  the  faint  glint 
of  firelight  through  the  trees. 

"Hurry!”  cried  Leslie  in  a voice  I 
scarcely  recognized.  "We  are  on  the  way 
to  Elna.  Hurry!” 

Rightly  or  wrongly,  he  was  convinced 
that  the  drums  were  leading  him  to  his 
lost  bride.  He  seemed  to  throw  all  cau- 
tion to  the  winds  as  he  crashed  his  way 
through  the  tangled  scrub,  heedless  of 
everything  except  the  red  glimmer  ahead. 
Had  I not  forcibly  restrained  him,  I ver- 
ily believe  he  would  have  dashed  for- 
ward and  attacked  single-handed  the 
horde  of  savages  that  were  seated  round 
the  fire.  I had  to  drag  him  under  cover 
by  main  force. 

"Are  you  mad?”  I whispered,  when  I 
had  got  him  behind  the  shelter  of  a clump 


of  bushes.  “They  are  fifty  to  one.  You 
will  not  help  Elna  by  throwing  away  your 
life.” 

'The  spot  where  we  were  crouching 
was  about  twenty  yards  from  the  fire 
which  burnt  brightly  in  the  center  of  the 
small  clearing.  By  the  light  of  the  leap- 
ing flames  we  were  able  to  pick  out  the 
huge  form  of  the  witch-doctor  as  he  sat 
a little  apart  from  the  rest,  on  a throne- 
like seat  of  carved  wood.  By  his  side, 
upon  the  ground,  there  crouched  a 
slighter  figure  muffled  from  head  to  foot 
in  a cloak  of  leopard  skins.  About  ten 
feet  away  was  Leon,  the  missing  steward, 
lying  bound  hand  and  foot. 

Some  sort  of  ritual  was  in  progress. 
Ever  and  again  N’Zahgi  would  lift  up 
his  voice  and  intone  a string  of  words, 


400 


WEIRD  TALES 


and  the  rest  would  chant  a response  in 
thunderous  unison,  keeping  time  to  the 
booming  of  the  drums.  Although  neither 
Leslie  nor  I understood  the  language,  we 
guessed  from  the  growing  excitement 
that  the  climax  of  the  ceremony  was  near 
at  band. 

Nor  were  we  mistaken.  The  weird  lit- 
any culminated  in  a sudden  mighty  shout; 
then  there  followed  a tense,  expeaant 
silence,  and  every  eye  was  turned  toward 
the  muffled  hgiue  which  crouched  beside 
the  throne.  For  a space,  during  which 
one  might  count  a hundred  slowly,  the 
seated  savages  remained  as  still  and  mo- 
tionless as  efflgies  of  gleaming  bronze. 
Then  the  drums  began  to  beat  a faster 
rhythm,  and  the  aouching  figure  leapt 
to  its  feet  and  cast  aside  the  leopardskin 
cloak,  standing  poised  like  some  beautiful 
ivory  statue  in  the  firelight’s  glare. 

A convulsive  gasp  came  from  the  boy 
at  my  side. 

"Elna!”  His  voice  was  so  loud  that 
but  for  the  drums  it  would  have  led  to 
our  discovery.  "My  God! — it’s  Elna!” 

But  it  was  Elna  in  a new  and  dreadful 
guise.  When  I had  seen  her  l^t  she  had 
been  dressed  like  an  ordinary  English 
girl;  now  every  vestige  of  civilization  had 
been  cast  aside.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
dazzling  whiteness  of  her  ^un  and  the 
glory  of  her  hair,  bright  as  sun-kissed 
corn,  she  might  have  passed  for  one  of 
the  women  of  the  tribe. 

My  first  emotion  was  a sense  of  dull 
incredulity.  Could  this  shameless  jungle 
amazon  be  Elna — the  girl  whom  I had 
watched  over  and  reared,  whom  I had 
uught  to  ride  straight,  shoot  straight, 
and  live  straight?  Impossible! — ^the  thing 
was  absurd!  'That  painted  and  feather- 
decked savage  was  not  my  little  girl — 
rather  was  it  some  foul,  flaunting  demon 
who  had  gained  possession  of  her  white 
and  flawless  body — sotiie  poisonous  spirit 
that  had  entered  into  her  blood.  . . . 


Her  blood?  The  truth  rushed  upon  me 
like  an  overwhelming  torrent  as  the 
thought  crossed  my  mind.  It  was  not  her 
blood  that  now  flowed  in  her  veins — it 
was  the  blood  of  the  naked  savage  who 
towered  behind  her  with  the  light  of  tri- 
umph gleaming  in  his  eyes.  N’Zahgi  had 
given  his  blood  that  she  might  live,  and 
now  he  was  about  to  lay  claim  to  his  own! 

Suddenly  Leslie  caught  my  shoulder 
and  twisted  me  around  so  that  I faced 
him.  Heavens!  the  boy  was  smiling.  Had 
he  gone  mad? 

"Don’t  you  understand?”  he  whispered 
in  a tone  of  immeasurable  relief.  "Elna 
is  aaing  a part.  She  is  dancing  to  fix 
their  attention — to  gain  time.  She  knows 
that  help  is  at  hand,  and  she’s  just  fool- 
ing the  niggers  so  that  they  will  not  harm 
her  until  we  can  strike.”  And  he  pushed 
forward  the  safety-catch  of  his  rifle  and 
looked  along  the  sights. 

I made  no  reply,  mercifully  allowing 
the  poor  lad  to  extraa  what  comfort  he 
might  from  his  idea.  In  my  own  mind  I 
was  sure  that  Elna  was  not  aaing.  She 
was  dancing  and  leaping  like  one  pos- 
sessed; in  her  hand  she  brandished  a long, 
straight-bladed  knife.  Her  features  were 
working  convulsively,  her  eyes  blazing 
with  mad  excitement.  And  as  she  danced 
she  drew  nearer  and  ever  nearer  to  the 
helpless  steward  on  the  ground. 

A horrible  fascination  gripped  me  as 
I watched  the  ghastly  drama,  so  that  I 
seemed  to  lose  all  sense  of  my  surroiuid- 
ings.  All  the  while,  floating  through  the 
mist  of  horror  and  dreadful  expeaancy 
that  clouded  my  brain,  came  the  memory 
of  Kemp’s  words  when  he  had  hinted  at 
the  unhallowed  rites  praaised  by  the 
"Red  Drinkers.” 

At  last  the  end  came. 

With  a laugh  that  was  like  the  shrill 
screech  of  a wild  beast,  the  frenzied  girl 
leapt  at  the  helpless  prisoner  and  plunged 
her  knife  into  his  throat.  The  horrified 

W.T.— 7 


THE  INVISIBLE  BOND 


401 


cry  that  rose  to  my  lips  was  stifled  by 
another,  and  even  greater  horror;  for  the 
creature  who  bore  the  outward  semblance 
to  Elna  Fanshaw  had  thrown  herself  full 
length  on  her  writhing  viaim  and  was 
greedily  sucking  the  living  blood  as  it 
gushed  from  the  wound. 

I can  only  conjecture  what  must  have 
been  Leslie’s  state  of  mind  at  that  mo- 
mem.  For  myself,  I seemed  to  be  the  vic- 
tim of  some  ghastly  nightmare  from 
which  I must  presently  awake.  I simply 
could  not  believe  die  evidence  of  my  own 
eyes  as  I saw  the  girl  raise  herself  from 
her  ghoulish  feast,  her  victim’s  life-blood 
staining  her  delicate  lips  and  running  in 
tiny  rivulets  down  her  ivory  breasts,  and, 
standing  erea  widi  wide-flung  arms,  give 
voice  to  die  exultam  blood-call  of  the 
Ghu-Fanti, 

At  the  si^t,  something  must  have 
snaj^ped  in  the  brain  of  the  boy  at  my 
side.  He  threw  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder, 
and  the  next  moment  the  crash  of  its 
discharge  awcJce  the  echoes  of  the  forest. 

I like  to  think  diat  he  imended  the  bul- 
let for  N’Zahgi,  but  if  so,  he  must  have 
aimed  badly.  It  was  Elna  who  stiffened 
suddenly  as  she  stcxid  poised  like  a crim- 
soned vampire — stiffened,  swayed,  then 
pitched  forward  and  lay  still. 

A second  later  I pressed  my  trigger 
and  sent  the  witch-doaor  down  with  a 
bullet  through  his  skull.  'Then  Leslie 
dashed  into  the  throng  of  startled  sav- 
ages, swinging  his  clubbed  rifle,  dealing 
out  death  to  every  living  thing  within 


his  readi,  without  a thou^t  for  his  own 
life.  I verily  believe  that  at  that  moment 
Leslie  wished  to  die.  If  so,  he  had  his 
wish.  The  savages  broke  and  ran  for 
cover,  but  an  arrow  whizzed  out  of  the 
darkness  and  buried  itself  in  his  heart.  . . . 

As  the  dawn  was  stealing  into  the 
eastern  sky  I laid  the  young  husband  and 
wife  in  a grave  which  I dug  near  the  spot 
where  they  had  died.  If  fate  had  sun- 
dered their  lives  so  strangely,  in  deatfi,  at 
least,  they  were  not  divided. 

I returned  to  the  vill^e  to  find  it  in 
the  hands  of  the  natives.  The  rest  of  our 
party  had  been  surprized  in  their  sleep 
and  killed.  Then  I wandered  into  the 
bush,  on  and  on,  until  I saw  your  smoke 
on  the  horizon.  ...  1 

• ««**** 

That  was  the  story  told  me  in  weak, 
gasping  sentences  as  my  ship  shoul- 
dered her  way  over  the  long  rollers  of 
the  tropic  sea.  Of  its  truth  or  falsity  the 
reader  must  judge  for  himself. 

It  may  be  possible  that  the  infusion  of 
savage  blood  formed  a bond,  invisible 
but  unbreakable,  between  the  gently 
nurtured  white  girl  and  the  fierce  devil- 
worshipper;  it  may  be  that  the  whole  ep- 
isode is  but  a figment  of  a fever-ridden 
brain. 

At  least  it  is  certain  that  more  will 
never  be  known,  for  the  sole  survivor  of 
the  ill-fated  Primrose  died  at  sundown 
that  day,  and  the  next  morning  we  com- 
mitted his  body  to  the  deep. 


W.T.— 8 


A W dr d Story  of  Upper  Michigan 


The  Tree  of  Life 

By  PAUL  ERNST 


IT  WAS  cold.  God,  it  was  cold!  Out- 
side the  cabin  a blanket  of  February 
snow  showed  leaden  white  under  the 
heavy,  midafternoon  clouds.  A keening 
wind  growled  through  the  bare-limbed 
trees.  It  rattled  the  dry  boughs  like  the 
fingers  of  skeletons;  and  stole  between 
the  slats  of  the  crude  window  to  twitch 
at  the  shroud  of  the  thing  beneath. 

It  was  from  that  sheeted,  stark  figure 
on  the  long  bench  that  the  greatest  cold 
seemed  to  emanate.  Nothing  can  be  colder 
that  a corpse.  Nothing!  A corpse  seems 
to  radiate  a deathly  chill  that  numbs  die 
heart  of  whoever  is  near  it. 

Because  of  the  shrouded  body  more 
than  because  of  the  actual  temperature, 
I was  chilled  to  the  bone  in  spite  of  my 
inches  of  heavy  clothing.  I got  to  my  feet 
and  walked  up  and  down  the  one  room 
of  the  cabin,  averting  my  eyes  from  the 
figure  on  the  bench. 

Then,  in  an  effort  to  conquer  fear  with 
familiarity,  I crossed  the  room  and  lifted 
the  shroud  from  the  hatchet  face  be- 
neath. 

An  old  woman,  looking  far  older  than 
her  years  because  of  her  lifetime  of 
toil  and  disappointments!  The  hair  was 
scant  and  yellow-gray.  The  eyes,  open 
and  staring,  were  like  gray  stones.  The 
nose  seemed  to  have  projeaed  even  far- 
ther in  death  than  in  life.  It  jutted  out 
like  the  point  of  a wedge.  There  was 
nothing  lovely  in  this  pilgrim,  set  out 
for  the  farther  shore.  There  was  nothing 
reposeful  here. 

It  was  Mrs.  Whilom,  wife  of  Ab 

402 


Whilom,  our  nearest  farm  neighbor. 
The  old  couple  had  been  swindl^  out 
of  their  modest  Ohio  farm  five  years  be- 
fore. In  their  old  age  they  had  been 
forced  to  come  to  upper  Midiigan,  bare- 
handed, to  wrest  v>a  living  from  the  un- 
familiar soil.  And  now — this! 

That  noon  my  father  and  I had 
hitched  up  for  the  twelve-mile  drive  over 
laborious  roads  to  town.  (This  was  be- 
fore the  day  of  teeming  autos  and  cement 
highways.)  In  front  of  the  Whilom  ca- 
bin my  father  had  pulled  up  the  horses 
and  stopped. 

Standing  before  us  was  Ab — a spare, 
gnarled  man  in  whom  age  had  curdled 
like  milk  in  a thimderstorm. 

"Jest  a minute,”  he  called,  coming  to 
the  side  of  the  wagon.  "I  need  help.” 

"An)rthing  we  can  do ” my  father 

began  amiably.  He  stopped  at  the  look 
in  Ab’s  eyes. 

"My  old  woman’s  jest  died,”  he  said. 
The  words  were  as  perfunctory  as  though 
he  had  just  announced  that  his  hogs  had 
cholera.  But  his  eyes  spoke  for  him.  'They 
were  da2ed,  hollowed  out  with  sense  of 
loss. 

"Somebody’d  ought  to  stay  with  her 
while  I go  to  town  for  the  undertaker,” 
continued  Ab.  "She  couldn’t  never  bide 
being  alone.  I’d  hate  to  leave  her  alone 
now.” 

My  father  turned  to  me,  doubtfully, 
speculatively. 

"Think  you  can  keep  her  company, 
son?” 

My  look  must  have  showed  how  re- 


THE  TREE  OF  LIFE 


405 


pulsive  I found  the  idea  of  a lonely  vigil 
in  the  squalid  cabin  with  a dead  woman, 
for  he  hastened  on. 

"Never  mind.  I’ll  do  it.  You’re  pretty 
young.  . . 

Now  the  youth  of  youth  is  a sore  point. 
His  reminding  me  of  my  sixteen  years 
was  sufficient  to  make  me  insist  on  stay- 
ing there  while  he  drove  Ab  on  into 
town. 

So  here  I was,  shivering  in  the  mean 
little  hut  beside  the  dead  Mrs.  Whilom, 
blue  with  a cold  that  did  not  come  en- 
tirely from  the  winter  wind  but  that 
emanated  straight  from  the  shrouded 
thing  on  the  bench  under  the  window. 

1 REPLACED  die  sheet  over  the  hawk 
features,  and  sat  down  before  the 
fireplace.  That  psychic  cold  that  struck 
through  jacket  and  maddnaw,  knee-high 
boots  and  heavy  socks!  I huddled  closer 
to  the  fire,  resolutely  turning  my  eyes  to 
the  leaping  flames.  I did  not  want  to  look 
toward  the  dead  woman. 

I wondered  if  the  body,  in  life,  housed 
a deathless  spirit,  as  most  people  claim  it 
does.  I wondered  where  this  woman’s 
spirit  was.  I fancied  I knew  what  other 
spirit  it  was  with  at  the  moment. 

Just  before  the  land  deal  that  had 
cheated  the  Whiloms  out  of  their  little 
farm,  Ab’s  daughter  had  died.  The 
daughter  was  an  unfortunate  creature, 
born  blind  and  dull-witted  and  ugly. 
Her  whole  life  had  been  filled  by  Mrs. 
Whilom.  And  the  old  lady,  to  hear  Ab 
tell  it,  had  concentrated  all  her  frustrated 
hopes  and  ambitions  in  a ferocious  ma- 
ternal flame  of  love  for  her  unfortunate 
child. 

’The  two  had  talked  without  words, 
Ab  had  once  said.  ’The  girl’s  soul,  he 
said,  was  twisted  around  the  mother’s 
like  a creeper  around  a tree. 

Now  was  the  daughter  rejoined  in 
death  by  the  only  person  that  had  ever 


meant  anything  to  her — the  only  light 
that  had  shone  in  her  warped,  blind 
world — her  mother?  Was  the  dau^- 
ter’s  spirit  hovering  somewhere  near,  come 
to  escort  the  spirit  of  her  beloved  parent? 

I thought  of  these  things  as  I huddled 
miserably  over  a fire  that  could  not  warm 
me,  and  prayed  the  time  would  not  be 
too  long  in  passing  till  my  father  and 
Ab  got  back  with  the  imdertaker. 

I TURNED  to  the  wood-box,  which  was 
full  to  overflowing,  and  dumped  a 
big  armful  of  split  branches  into  the 
fire.  ’This  awful  cold! 

’The  fire  roared  hi^er  as  I fed  it  more 
wood.  In  an  effort  to  counteraa  that 
chilling  cold  I built  a blaze  that  threat- 
ened the  safety  of  the  cabin. 

'The  first  keen  edge  of  my  formless  ter- 
ror gradually  wore  off,  as  all  keen  edges 
do  in  time.  The  psychic  chill  was  less 
numbing.  Or,  possibly,  it  was  more 
numbing.  I don’t  know.  Perhaps  my 
fear  was  now  so  great  diat  my  nerves  re- 
fused to  twitch  to  its  stimulus  any  more. 
At  any  rate,  calm,  of  a sort,  came  over 
me.  And  with  diis  unnatural,  stunned 
calm  there  came  a relief  from  the  cold- 
ness. 

In  spite  of  the  open  window,  covered 
only  by  the  few  meager  slats,  in  spite  of 
the  low  temperature  outside,  I began  to 
feel  suffocated.  I was  dressed  to  be  com- 
fortable at  zero.  It  must  have  been  near- 
ly 60“  now  in  the  low,  small  room. 

I took  off  my  maddnaw  and  loosened 
my  collar.  ’Then,  as  my  feet  felt  the 
heat,  my  boots  began  to  bother  me.  ’They 
were  new — and  stiff  as  only  new  knee- 
high  boots  can  be.  I took  Aem  off,  too, 
and  padded  about  in  my  heavy  socks.  I 
opened  the  door  for  a foot  or  so  and 
propped  it  with  a piece  of  firewood. 

’Trying  to  make  my  mind  a blank,  I 
sat  down,  a good  way  from  the  scordi- 
ing  fire.  Another  two  hours  would  be 


404 


WEIRD  TALES 


needed  before  the  trip  to  town  and  back 
could  be  concluded.  Two  hours.  Two 
centuries! 

I sat  there,  keeping  my  eyes  on  the 
partly  opened  door  so  that  I would  not 
see  the  way  the  drafts  twitched  like 
ghostly  fingers  at  the  edge  of  the  shroud. 

There  was  a faint  scratching  on  the 
bare-swept  step  outside.  A small,  ta- 
pered head,  in  which  were  set  two  beady 
eyes,  was  poked  inquisitively  around  the 
edge  of  the  door.  A wood-rat.  And  an 
astonishingly  bold  one!  Driven  past  fear, 
no  doubt,  by  the  attraaion  of  the  warmth 
and  the  smell  of  food  in  the  cupboard. 

Giutiously,  with  many  a spasmodic  re- 
treat, it  came  into  the  cabin.  It  kept  its 
hard  little  eyes  warily  on  me.  I stayed 
motionless,  glad  of  any  distraaion. 

After  perhaps  five  minutes  of  maneu- 
vering, it  reached  the  center  of  the  room 
and  aouched,  staring  impudently  up  at 
me.  I reached  slowly  down  beside  me 
for  one  of  my  boots.  Slowly 

The  wood-rat  jerked  toward  the  door, 
but  stopped  as  my  descending  hand  was 
stayed.  It  came  back.  And  now  my 
fingers  were  around  the  boot-top. 

My  hand  snapped  back  and  up.  The 
rat  raced  for  the  door,  but  a foot  away 
from  it  the  flung  boot  chanced  to  catch 
it  squarely.  It  kicked  a little,  and  lay 
still,  with  a fleidc  of  red  dabbling  its 
spiky,  repulsive  whiskers. 

I started  up  to  throw  the  dead  rat  out 
of  the  cabin,  when  another  scratching 
soimd  on  the  step  outside  came  to  my 
ears. 

It  was  a second  wood-rat.  And  this 
one  was  either  entirely  fearless  or  lost  to 
caution  in  its  discovery  of  its  fellow’s 
fate. 

Without  even  a glance  at  me,  it 
streaked  from  the  door  to  the  furry  body 
lying  beside  my  boot.  It  sniffed  around 
the  dead  rat  with  inquisitive  nose,  and 
stared  at  it  with  beady  eyes.  Then,  al- 


most before  I could  follow  its  move- 
ments, it  had  streaked  for  the  door  again, 
and  was  gone. 

Almost  at  once  it  was  back  again.  And 
in  its  mouth  was  a green  leaf,  about  the 
size  and  shape  of  an  oak  leaf. 

A green  leaf!  Green!  In  the  middle 
of  February  in  a region  where  winter  is 
unrelenting  and  iron-boimd! 

My  face  must  have  been  a mask  of  stu- 
pidity as  I stared  at  that  leaf.  Where  in 
the  name  of  all  that  was  miraculous  could 
the  rodent  have  found  it?  'There  were  no 
green  trees  in  the  countryside  at  that  time 
of  year!  I knew  there  were  none.  Yet 
— ^here  was  this  leaf! 

The  rat  was  less  qtudc  this  time,  less 
bold.  It  crept  slowly  toward  the 
stiffening  body  of  its  mate.  As  it  ad- 
vanced it  kept  its  glittering  little  eyes 
direaed  — not  toward  me,  cuiriously 
enough,  but  toward  the  corpse. 

There  followed  a most  astoimding 
speaacle. 

'The  rat  began  to  scurry  aimlessly 
around  the  room  as  though  something 
were  chasing  it.  Gu^fully  holding  the 
amazing  leaf  clear  of  the  floor,  it  d^ged 
wildly  from  one  wall  to  the  other,  al- 
ways keeping  its  eyes  fixed  on  thin  air  in 
front  of  it.  I was  as  completely  disre- 
garded as  though  I had  not  been  there. 

Toward  the  improvised  bier  the  rat 
scurried,  only  to  double  spasmodically 
away  from  it  and  tun  under  my  very 
chair.  Had  the  thing  gone  mad?  I b^ 
gan  to  fumble  for  my  other  boot,  fear  of 
a bite  overcoming  my  curiosity  to  see  the 
outcome  of  this  inexplicable  play. 

The  rat  approached  its  dead  mate 
again,  keeping  its  eyes  on  a spot  on  the 
wall  over  the  body  — as  if  there  were 
something  there  that  was  invisible  to  my 
eyes. 

With  a quick  move  it  placed  the  green 


THE  TREE  OF  LIFE 


405 


leaf  squarely  on  the  little  stark  body. 
And  behold — a miracle! 

The  rat  that  was  dead  was  no  longer 
dead!  Under  my  very  gaze  it  quivered 
and  came  to  life.  The  legs  jerked  once 
or  twice.  The  body  twitched.  The  crea- 
ture rose,  limping  and  stiff,  and  followed 
its  mate  out  dhe  door! 

My  mind  whirled  in  a blind  chaos. 
That  impossible  green  leaf — its  contact 
with  the  dead  rat — the  resurrection  of  the 
little  pest! 

As  had  everyone  else  who  lived  in 
that  part  of  the  state,  I had  heard  tales  of 
a fabulous  Tree  of  Life.  Somewhere  in 
the  region  there  was  said  to  be  a tree  that 
could  raise  the  dead  at  a mere  touch.  The 
myth  had  been  handed  down  to  the  old- 
timers  by  the  Indians.  My  father  had 
heard  the  yarn  from  his  father,  and  had 
told  it  to  me  when  I was  a yoimgster  and 
begged  for  a fairy-story. 

It  was  a myth.  Of  course  it  was  a 
myth!  There  could  be  no  truth  in  such 
a thing!  But — that  wood-rat  had  surely 
been  dead.  And  now  it  was  alive! 

I stated  at  the  leaf,  still  lying  on  the 
floor.  Like  an  oak  leaf,  it  was,  but  of  a 
softer  texture  and  a lighter  green.  A 
leaf  from  the  Tree 

My  gaze  went,  fascinated,  from  the , 
leaf  to  the  body  imder  the  window. 

A dead  rat  had  come  to  life.  Why 
could  not  a dead  human  being?  Both 
were  flesh.  Both  were  made  of  the  same 
stuff.  And  here,  to  my  hand,  was  this 
incredible  green  leaf. 

I left  my  chair  and  picked  it  up.  It 
seemed  to  curl  about  my  fingers  with  a 
life  of  its  own.  It  was  soft  as  the  softest 
silk,  and  warm — like  no  other  leaf  I’d 
ever  touched.  The  feel  of  it  went  through 
me  like  wine.  I seemed  to  expand,  to 
grow  larger  than  my  own  self. 

Clutching  the  leaf,  I started  toward 
the  corpse.  As  I went  the  numbing  chill 


that  had  paralyzed  me  before,  laid  hold 
of  me  again.  And  suddenly,  as  though 
the  touch  of  the  leaf  had  given  my  eyes 
new  power,  I thought  I saw  something 
wavering  proteaively  over  the  dead  body. 
I say  "thought”  because  by  now  it  was 
early  dusk,  and  the  misty  shape  I seemed 
to  see  was  so  intermingled  with  the 
gathering  shadows  that  I could  not  be 
sure.  Also,  when  I blinked  my  eyes  to 
test  their  veracity,  the  vision  disappeared. 

I lifted  up  the  shroud,  and  started  to 
touch  the  leaf  to  the  dead  woman’s 
face 

Icy  fingers  seemed  to  catch  at  my 
wrist!  My  hand  was  tom  away! 

"Will!” 

It  was  like  a shower  of  ice-cold  water, 
that  whip-like  crack  of  my  name  sound- 
ing behind  me.  I gasped  with  the  sud- 
denness of  it,  combined  as  it  was  with 
the  sheer  terror  that  had  crept  through 
me  at  the  fancied  touch  of  those  unseen 
fingers. 

My  hand  opened  convulsively.  As 
though  caught  up  by  some  invisible  force, 
the  leaf  whirled  out  the  window  and  was 
gone. 

"Has  anything  happened  to  upset 
you?”  asked  my  father,  putting  his  hand 
anxiously  on  my  shoulder. 

"No,”  I mumbled.  "No.  Nothing 
at  all  has  happened.” 

"I  thought  I saw  something  blow  out 
of  the  window,”  he  persisted.  I made  no 
answer. 

Ab,  meanwhile,  was  taking  a last  look 
at  the  woman  who  had  helped  and  cared 
for  him  for  so  long. 

"She’s  happier  now,  I reckon,”  he 
muttered.  "She’s  with  Patty,  prob’ly, 
with  our  poor  blind  daughter.  . . .” 

I NEVER  told  them  what  had  happened 
in  that  cabin.  A kid  of  sixteen  doesn’t 
tell  such  things.  He’s  too  sure  he’ll  be 
laughed  at.  It’s  only  now,  when  I am 


406 


WEIRD  TALES 


well  along  in  years,  diat  I dare  to  relate 
the  a£Fair  and  speculate  about  it. 

Was  the  rat  really  dead?  Possibly 
not;  I am  in  no  position  to  prove  it.  Did 
I merely  imagine  that  wavering  thing  by 
die  corpse,  and  the  touch  of  those  cold 
fingers?  Perhaps;  one’s  imagination  is 
apt  to  work  overtime  during  such  a vigil. 
Could  the  spirit  of  the  dead  daughter 
have  really  been  in  that  room,  and  did  it 


Black  Chant  Imperial 

By  ROBERT  E.  HOWARD 

Trumpets  triumph  in  red  disaster. 

White  skulls  litter  the  broken  sod. 

And  we  who  ride  for  the  one  Black  Master 
Howl  at  the  iron  gates  of  God. 

Temples  rock  and  the  singers  falter. 

Lights  go  out  in  the  rushing  gloom — 

Slay  the  priest  on  his  blackened  altar, 

Rip  the  babe  from  the  woman’s  womb! 

Black  be  the  night  that  locks  around  them, 

'They  who  chant  of  the  Good  and  Light, 

Black  be  the  pinions  that  shall  confound  them. 

Breaking  their  brains  with  a deadly  fright. 

Praised  be  the  Prince  that  reigns  forever 
'Throned  in  the  shadows  stark  and  grim. 

Where  cypress  moans  by  the  midnight  river — 

Lift  your  goblas  and  drink  to  him! 

Virgins  wail  and  a babe  is  whining 
Nailed  like  a fly  on  a gory  lance; 

White  on  the  skulls  the  stars  are  shining. 

Over  them  sweeps  our  demon’s  dance. 

Trumpets  bray  and  the  stars  are  riven! 

Shatter  the  altar,  blot  the  light! 

From  the  bursting  hells  to  the  falling  heaven 
We  are  kings  of  the  world  tonight! 


first  chase  the  rat  and  then  clutch  at  my 
wrist  in  an  effort  to  keep  the  mother  from 
being  resurrected?  It  sounds  unbeliev- 
able. 

The  only  faa  that  I can  reiterate  is 
that  the  leaf — in  the  midst  of  winter — 
was  green.  I saw  it,  held  it  in  my  hand. 
What  would  have  happened  had  1 
touched  it  to  the  corpse?  I don’t  know, 
of  course,  but  I think  ...  I think.  . . . 


His  W^ild  Dream  Was  Interwoven  With  Reality 


The  Phantom  Bus 

By  W.  ELWYN  BACKUS 


OUT  of  the  vagueness  of  the  half- 
dawn a dark  bulk  loomed  to  the 
accompaniment  of  a dull  rumble. 
To  Arthur  Strite,  waiting  for  his  regular 
bus — the  big,  orange  six-forty-five  to  the 
city — ^this  nondescript  contraption  which 
usually  preceded  it  by  a minute  or  two 
seemed  more  like  a ghostly  coffin  than  a 
public  conveyance.  Its  sweating  black 
sides  glistened  oilily  in  the  gray  light  as  it 
passed  him.  A single  dim  incandescent 
lamp  seen  through  the  windows  silhou- 
etted stiffly  nodding  heads  against  the 
background  of  a dingy  interior.  Then 
the  black  bus  was  gone,  swallowed  up  in 
the  swirling  December  mist  and  fog. 

As  always,  a feeling  of  odd  disquiet 
possessed  Strite  with  the  passing  of  this 
conveyance — a fleeting  impression  of 
mystery,  strangely  repellent  and  defying 
description;  of  ill  omen.  What  manner 
of  passengers  it  carried  or  whence  and 
whither  it  traveled,  he  did  not  know — 
and  cared  less.  Yet,  queerly  enough,  the 
affair  had  increasingly  irritated  and  dis- 
turbed him  ever  since  his  moving  to 
Emerymont  three  weeks  before. 

"Just  an  old  junk-heap  that  loops  out 
through  Norwood  and  back  over  this 
direction,”  a fellow  commuter  said  in 
answer  to  his  question.  Until  this  morn- 
ing Strite  had  refrained  from  what  he 
deemed  the  weakness  of  a query  about 
this  thing.  For  he  had  hesitated  to  give 
definite  shape  to  his  senseless  disquiet  by 
admitting  any  curiosity,  even  to  himself, 
"I  believe  a couple  of  death-traps  like  that 
one  comprise  the  company’s  entire  roll- 
ing-stock,” his  informant  finished. 


"Oh,”  said  Strite,  mentally  categorying 
the  bus  line  with  several  that  operated  a 
sort  of  cross-country  service  between  out- 
lying sections  of  Cincinnati.  Of  course, 
he  refleaed,  some  concern  had  to  serve 
this  need.  But  he  was  conscious  of  a feel- 
ing of  relief  that  he  did  not  have  to  use 
that  service. 

Arthur  Strite  was  boarding  in  Emery- 
mont  with  the  Ransons,  not  because  of 
any  liking  for  the  make-believes,  the  rab- 
ble of  teurgeoisie  and  scandalmongers 
that  peopled  the  little  suburb,  but  because 
he  did  enjoy  the  shrubbery  and  lawns  and 
the  quaintly  designed  houses,  despite  the 
crazy  butting  of  garbage-can-studded 
bade  yards  against  living-room  windows 
of  adjoining  homes.  He  minded  his  own 
business,  displaying  no  curiosity  in  the 
neighbors  or  affairs  of  the  place — ^which 
was  one  of  the  reasons  why  he  had  not 
discovered  sooner  the  purpose  of  the  bus 
line  mentioned. 

The  night  of  the  same  day  he  had 
asked  about  the  bus,  he  found  himself 
pondering,  with  some  intentness  in  the 
midst  of  an  absent-minded  perusal  of  the 
evening  comic  sheet,  on  the  dingy  con- 
veyance that  passed  him  each  morning. 
Why  should  that  silly  bus  thus  intrude 
itself  into  his  mind?  He  smiled  self-in- 
dulgently  and  turned  over  to  the  sports 
page.  The  thing  actually  was  becoming  a 
nuisance!  And  for  no  logical  reason. 
What  should  it  matter  to  him  how  unin- 
viting, how  disagreeable  a box  on  wheels 
those  people  rode  in  every  morning? 

Nevertheless,  he  dropped  off  to  sleep 
thinking  about  the  ghostly  bus. 


40] 


408 


WEIRD  TALES 


The  same  diing  began  to  be  the  rule 
on  the  nights  that  followed.  Always  that 
ridiculous  feeling  of  indefinable  dread 
would  come  over  him,  would  cling  ten- 
aciously to  his  thoughts  from  the  moment 
he  happened  to  think  of  having  seen  the 
shadowy  bus  that  morning.  He  had  half 
a notion  to  hail  the  confounded  contrap- 
tion some  morning  and  see  where  it  took 
him,  just  to  dispel  all  this  absurd  air  of 
mystery  about  it  which  had  so  unaccount- 
ably fastened  upon  him.  Though  perhaps 
there  was  some  reason  for  his  strange 
obsession  after  all.  Not  quite  one  year 
before,  his  fianc^,  Doris  Tway,  had  been 
killed  in  a terrible  bus  crash.  He  remem- 
bered the  crumpled  remains  of  the  fatal 
bus,  vdiich  he  had  seen  afterward,  vivid- 
ly. It,  too,  had  been  black  and  shabby. 
An  odd  girl — she  had  always  said  chat  if 
she  left  first,  she  would  return  for  him. 
Her  idea  of  a joke,  of  course,  but  un- 
usual. 

In  spite  of  his  notion  about  hailing  the 
ocher  bus,  Strite  did  not  ride  it — not  for 
several  weeks  anyway,  although  its  daily 
rumbling  and  jangling  iq}ptoach,  made 
more  eery  by  the  shortening  of  die  days, 
had  driven  ^at  impression  of  weird  mys- 
tery deeper  than  ever  into  his  waking 
thoughts.  Waking,  because,  so  far,  the 
datk  bus  had  troubled  him  only  during 
the  evenings  before  he  retired. 

However,  diere  came  a night  when  he 
dreamed  that  he  obeyed  an  impulse  and 
boarded  the  strange  bus! 

He  was  conscious  of  a sickly  odor  as  he 
entered  the  rickety  door,  which  had  slid 
back  widi  a softness  in  strange  contrast  to 
the  outward  datter  of  the  conveyance. 
The  viaor  of  the  operator’s  caq>  was  pulled 
wdl  down  over  his  face  as  he  leaned  over 
his  levers.  Strite  felt  the  bus  begin  to 
move.  Oddly,  there  was  no  vibration, 
none  of  the  jarring  rattle  smd  bang  he 
had  eiqiected.  He  mig^t  have  been  on  a 
river  barge,  for  all  the  motion  he  could 


feel.  Startled  more  by  this  unnatural 
quiet  than  he  could  have  been  by  the 
loudest  of  banging  or  jolting,  he  raised 
his  eyes  toward  the  occupants  of  the  bus. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  strange  effort  this  aa 
seemed  to  impose  upon  him;  at  any  rate, 
he  awoke  in  that  instant,  seized  by  un- 
reasoning, incomprehensible  terror! 

It  was  an  hour  before  his  taut  nerves 
had  relaxed  enough  to  let  him  drop  off  to 
sleep — and  not  before  he  had  vowed  to 
ride  that  bus  in  faa  the  next  morning. 

2 

STRITE  did  not  ride  the  black  bus  the 
next  morning.  It  was  nearly  seven 
o’dock  when  he  opened  his  eyes  from  a 
troubled  sleep.  This  meant  that  he  would 
be  late  to  the  office  where  he  worked,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  dty.  Of  course  he 
missed  his  regular  bus,  and,  with  it,  the 
other.  Too,  the  daylight  put  a different 
aspect  upon  things.  It  would  have  been 
ridiculous,  after  all,  to  board  a bus  bound 
for  another  part  of  the  dty  merely  to 
humor  a crazy  impulse. 

Yet,  when  that  night  came,  Strite  hes- 
itated to  go  to  bed.  He  told  himself  that 
he  was  hopeless,  a fool  and  a coward. 
Then  he  undressed  and  resolutely  turned 
out  the  li^t. 

His  hesitancy  had  not  been  unfounded. 
Again  he  found  himself  boarding  the 
mysterious,  sweating  conveyance  with  its 
leaning  operator  and  strange,  illusive 
odor.  And  again  a sudden,  agonized 
awakening. 

But  this  time  he  saw  the  other  occu- 
pants before  he  awoke.  They  all — there 
were  six  of  them — ^had  their  eyes  closed 
as  they  sat  nodding  slightly  with  the 
almost  imperceptible  swaying  of  the  bus. 
There  was  a repellent  something  about 
those  faces,  other  than  their  dosed  eye- 
lids, diat  struck  a chill  into  Strite's  heart. 
He  wondered  whedier  they  were  just 
weary,  like  him,  or 


THE  PHANTOM  BUS 


409 


A cold  finger  touched  his  wrist.  He 
managed  to  turn  and  face  the  operator. 
The  latter,  his  face  still  hidden,  was  point- 
ing to  the  fare  box.  Of  course,  these  ill- 
built,  ill-kept  buses  would  reverse  things 
by  demanding  their  fare  when  one 
entered.  He  reached  into  his  pocket  for 
a dime,  and  in  that  moment  caugjit  sight 
of  a seventh  passenger,  seated  in  front  on 
the  other  side.  The  operator's  head  and 
shoulders  had  partly  hidden  her  from 
him  before,  despite  her  slender  tallness. 

As  his  fingers  found  and  automatically 
brought  forth  a dime,  he  observed  that 
this  passenger’s  eyes  were  not  closed  like 
the  test — djat  they  were  pale  gray  and 
staring  at  him.  They  were  like — oh,  God, 
it  couldn’t  be — Doris!  But  it  was — ^it 
was!  How  could  he  have  failed  to  recog- 
nize her  sooner,  despite  her  position  on 
the  other  side  of  the  operator.^  Now  he 
could  tmderstand  why  this  bus  had 
drawn  him  so  strangely,  irresistibly. 

As  he  stated  back  at  her,  speechless 
with  amazement,  her  eyes  left  his  face, 
turned  toward  the  windshield.  Her  pale 
lips  twitched  oddly,  as  if,  mute  with  fear 
at  what  she  saw  there,  she  sought  vainly 
to  screana. 

*nien  abruptly  the  spell  was  broken. 
She  leaped  to  her  feet,  throwing  one  arm 
across  her  face  in  a gesture  of  one  ward- 
ing ofiF  some  fearful  harm.  A shrill,  hys- 
terical scream  pierced  the  quiet  of  that 
dosed  space  like  the  stab  of  a knife! 

'That  cry  jarred  Strife  back  to  con- 
sdousness  with  a suddenness  that  jerked 
him  upri^t  in  bed. 

As  he  sat  there  trembling  widi  the 
realism  of  his  dream  and  th«  agonized 
scream,  he  became  aware  that  he  held 
something  tightly  in  one  dosed  hand.  A 
fresh  chill  passed  through  his  body  at  the 
familiar  feel  of  that  something.  He 
needed  no  li^t  to  tell  him  that  it  was  a 


dime  he  dutched — the  dime  he  had  been 
ready  to  drop  in  the  fare  box  o£  bis 
dream! 

3 

OF  cotTRSE  he  found  that  die  <x>in  evi- 
dently had  fallen  out  of  his  vest 
vdien  he  sat  on  the  bed  while  undressing. 
In  fact,  he  usually  kept  some  change  in 
his  vest  pocket  so  as  to  have  it  handy  for 
tips,  newspapers,  and  such.  Perhaps  the 
acddental  finding  and  touching  of  that 
coin  in  his  slumbers  had  even  started  the 
train  of  thought  that  had  made  him  dream 
of  the  fare  box — and  the  other  things.  But 
there  was  no  more  sleep  for  Strife.  After 
tossing  about  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  he 
got  up  about  five  o'  clock. 

This  morning  he  was  determined  upon 
one  thing.  He  would  ride  the  blade  bus — 
"the  phantom  bus,’*  as  he  had  come  to 
term  it  privately — this  morning,  and  kill 
for  once  and  all  this  persistent  stdicon- 
scious  illusion  that  had  taken  root  In  his 
mind  from  the  seed  of  his  first  absurd  im- 
pression of  the  rickety  conveyance  in  the 
eery  light  of  half-dawn. 

Once  more  his  intention  was  to  be  de- 
feated, however.  The  blade  bus  failed  to 
appear  before  the  six-forty-five,  though 
had  arrived  at  its  stop  more  than  a quar- 
ter-hour before  it  was  due.  He  even 
waited  for  it  ten  minutes  after  his  regular 
bus  had  gone — only  to  learn  later  ditt  the 
other  line  finally  had  been  discontimied. 

His  first  reaction  to  diis  information 
was  an  overwhelming  relief.  No  ItMiger 
would  he  be  reminded  by  this  shadowy 
rumbling  hulk  each  morning,  of  thingr 
he  wanted  to  forget. 

But  on  the  he^  of  this  thou^  came 
the  realization  that  die  very  disoondnu- 
ance  of  the  line  had  removed  all  diascc 
of  his  ever  killing  the  illusion  if  the  latter 
continued  to  troid>le  him. 


410 


WEIRD  TALES 


That  day  at  noon  as  he  walked  along  a 
downtown  street  a peculiar  odor  halted 
him.  There  was  an  illusive,  dread 
familiarity  about  it.  He  was  before  a 
florist’s  open  shop,  and  a great  bowl  of 
tuberoses,  those  once  choice  flowers  for  all 
those  departed,  was  set  out  in  front.  He 
knew  now  where  he  had  smelled  their 
scent  before — on  the  phantom  bus  of  his 
dream. 

4 

ONCE  again  Strife  was  in  the  phantom 
bus — in  his  subconscious  mind.  This 
time  he  knew  exaaly  what  was  coming. 
He  seemed  powerless  to  change  a single 
detail  of  it  all.  The  pause  just  inside  the 
doorway  as  he  forced  his  gaze  up  to  where 
the  six  passengers  sat  in  plain  view,  their 
eyes  closed,  in  death-like  weariness  or 
worse.  The  icy  touch  of  a finger  on  his 
wrist,  the  reaching  for  a coin,  and  the  dis- 
covery of  the  slender,  tall  girl  up  front. 
Doris! 

At  this  point  the  sequence  of  events 
suddenly  galvanized  him  into  a feverish 
alertness  for  the  next  thing.  As  Doris’ 
hysterical  scream  rang  in  his  ears,  he  was 
abruptly  released  from  the  grip  of  im- 
mobility. He  turned  quickly  and  looked 
out  of  the  front  of  the  bus. 

What  he  saw  there  made  him  throw  up 
his  hands  in  an  involuntary  gesture  simi- 
lar to  her  own  instinaive  gesture  of  ter- 
ror. He  heard  the  brakes  squealing 
shrilly — felt  the  bus  skid  on  the  sleet- 
covered  road  even  as  he  caught  a side 
glimpse  of  the  operator’s  face — saw  with 
sudden  added  horror  that  half  the  face 
was  missing.  Beyond  that  fleeting  glimpse, 
he  had  time  for  no  further  examination; 
for  just  ahead  a heavily  loaded  truck  was 
emerging  from  a narrow  bridge-end, 
blocking  their  way.  'Then  a terrific,  rend- 
ing crash.  . . . 


The  six-forty-five  bus  was  four  min- 
utes late  on  accoimt  of  the  icy  con- 
dition of  the  roads;  they  had  been  that 
way  for  two  days.  A little  group  of  com- 
muters on  the  roadside  were  talking  in 
subdued  tones,  for  once  unmindful  of  the 
delay  as  they  waited. 

"Personally,”  a pompous,  red-faced 
man  was  saying,  "I  believe  Ranson  killed 
and — mauled — ^him  for  attentions  to 
Mrs.  Ranson.” 

"But  Strite  didn’t  appear  to  be  that 
type,”  objeaed  a young  member  of  the 
group.  "Nor  is  Mrs.  Ranson  the  sort  who 
would  encourage  him.  Besides,  consider 
the  condition  of  the  body.  Why,  Ranson 
or  no  one  else  could  have  so  mangled  an- 
other— ^to  say  nothing  of  leaving  it  in  bed 
and  persistently  claiming  that  he  didn’t 
know  how  it  happened,  except  that  he 
and  his  wife  were  awakened  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night  by  a frightful  cry — and 
found  him  that  way!  No,  I say  there  is 
some  deeper  mystery  about  the  affair,  the 
nature  of  which  we  haven’t  suspected.” 

'The  big,  orange-colored  bus  hove  into 
view  at  this  jimcture,  interrupting  the  dis- 
cussion for  the  time.  Presently  they  all 
had  boarded  it  and  foimd  seats  at  various 
vantage-points.  A little  distance  along  the 
road  one  of  them  pointed  out  to  his  neigh- 
bor a twisted  and  splintered  mass  of 
wreckage  at  the  foot  of  an  embankment 
of  the  narrow  bridge  they  were  just  then 
crossing. 

"Lucky  it  jumped  off  when  it  struck — 
didn’t  even  delay  us  yesterday  when  we 
followed  a few  minutes  after  it  was  dis- 
covered.” 

"Queer  thing  about  how  it  got  there,” 
said  the  other.  "Nobody  witnessed  the 
accident,  and  the  defima  bus  company’s 
ofiSicials  swear  that  the  last  they  saw  of 
their  'death  trap’  was  when  it  was  locked 


BEYOND  THE  DOOR 


411 


away  in  an  old  garage  on  the  other  side 
of  Norwood.  Can  you  imagine  any  one 
swiping  a can  like  that  for  a ride?  But  the 
present-day  young  cc4ce-head  will  grab 
anything  for  a joy-ride.*’ 


‘■No  queerer  dian  that — that  mess  in- 
side the  wreck — as  if  some  one  had  been 
crushed  like — ^well,  like  poor  Strite,  for 
instance.  Yet  they  could  find  no  trace  of 
a body!" 


Beyond  the  Door 


By  PAUL  SUTER 


“'^^OU  haven’t  told  me  yet  how  it 
haj^)ened,’*  I said  to  Mrs.  Mal- 
kin. 

She  set  her  lips  and  eyed  me,  sharply. 

"Didn’t  you  talk  with  die  coroner, 
sir?” 

"Yes,  of  course,’’  I admitted;  “but  as 
I understand  you  found  my  uncle,  I 
thought ’’ 

"Well,  I wouldn’t  care  to  say  anything 
about  it,”  she  interrupted,  with  decision. 

’This  housekeeper  of  my  uncle’s  was 
somewhat  taller  than  I,  and  much  heavier 
— ^two  physical  preponderances  which 
afford  any  woman  possessing  them  an 
advantage  over  the  inferior  male.  She 
appeared  a subjea  for  diplomacy  rather 
than  argument. 

Noting  her  ample  jaw,  her  breadth  of 
cheek,  the  unsentimental  glint  of  her  eye, 
I decided  on  conciliaticm.  I placed  a chair 
for  her,  there  in  my  Uncle  Godfrey’s 
study,  and  dropped  into  another,  myself. 

“At  least,  before  we  go  over  the  other 


parts  of  the  house,  suppose  we  rest  a 
little,”  I suggested,  in  my  most  unctuous 
manner.  “The  place  rather  gets  on  one’s 
nerves — don’t  you  think  so?” 

It  was  sheer  luck — I claim  no  credit 
for  it.  My  chance  refleaion  found  the 
weak  spot  in  her  fortifications.  She  re- 
plied to  it  with  an  undoubted  smack  of 
satisfaaion: 

"It’s  more  than  seven  years  that  I’ve 
been  doing  for  Mr,  Sarston,  sir:  bring- 
ing him  his  meals  regular  as  clockwork, 
keeping  the  house  clean — ^as  clean  as  he’d 
let  me — and  sleeping  at  my  own  home 
o’  nights;  and  in  all  that  time  I’ve  said, 
over  and  over,  there  ain’t  a house  in  New 
York  the  equal  of  this  for  queemess.” 

“Nor  anywhere  else,”  I encouraged 
her,  with  a laugh;^  and  her  confidences 
opened  another  notch: 

“You’re  likely  right  in  that,  too,  sir. 
As  I’ve  said  to  poor  Mr.  Sarston,  many  a 
time,  'It’s  all  well  enough,’  says  I,  'to 
have  bugs  for  a hobby.  You  can  afford 
it;  and  being  a bachelor  and  by  your- 


•BYom  WEIRD  TAX.E3.  April,  1923. 


412 


WEIRD  TALES 


self,  you  don’t  have  to  consider  other 
people’s  likes  and  dislikes.  And  it’s  all 
well  enough  if  you  want  to,’  says  I,  'to 
keep  thousands  and  thousands  o’  them  in 
cabinets,  all  over  the  place,  the  way  you 
do.  But  when  it  comes  to  pinnin’  them 
on  the  walls  in  regular  armies,’  I says, 
’and  on  the  ceiling  of  your  own  study; 
and  even  on  difFerent  parts  of  the  furni- 
tme,  so  that  a body  don’t  know  what 
awful  thing  she’s  a-goin’  to  find  imder 
her  hand  of  a sudden  when  she  does  the 
dusting;  why,  then,’  I says  to  him,  'it’s 
drivin’  a decent  woman  too  far.’  ” 

"And  did  he  never  try  to  reform  his 
ways  when  you  told  him  that?’’  1 asked, 
smiling. 

"To  be  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Robinson, 
when  I talked  like  that  to  him,  he  gener- 
ally raised  my  pay.  And  what  was  a body 
to  do  then?’’ 

"I  can’t  see  how  Lucy  Lawton  stood 
the  place  as  long  as  she  did,’’  I observed, 
watting  Mrs.  Malkin’s  red  face  very 
closely. 

She  swallowed  the  bait,  and  leaned 
forward,  hands  on  knees. 

"Poor  girl,  it  got  on  her  nerves.  But 
she  was  the  quiet  kind.  You  never  saw 
her,  sir?’’ 

I shook  my  head.  , 

"One  of  Aem,  slim,  faded  girls,  with 
light  hair,  and  hardly  a word  to  say  for 
herself.  I don’t  believe  she  got  to  know 
the  next-door  neighbor  in  the  whole  year 
she  lived  with  your  uncle.  She  was  an  or- 
phan, wasn’t  she,  sir?’’ 

"Yes,’’  I said.  "Godfrey  Sarston  and 
I were  her  only  living  relatives.  That 
was  why  she  came  from  Australia  to  stay 
with  him,  after  her  father’s  death.’’ 

Mrs.  Malkin  nodded.  I was  hoping 
that,  by  putting  a check  on  my  eagerness, 
I could  lead  her  on  to  a number  of  things 
I greatly  desired  to  know.  Up  to  the  time 
I had  induced  the  housekeeper  to  show 
me  through  this  strange  house  of  my 


Uncle  Godfrey’s,  the  whole  affair  had 
been  a mystery  of  lips  which  closed  and 
faces  which  were  averted  at  my  approach. 
Even  the  coroner  seemed  unwilling  to  tell 
me  just  how  my  luicle  had  died. 

ID  you  understand  she  was  going  to 
live  with  him,  sir?’’  asked  Mrs. 
Malkin,  looking  hard  at  me. 

I confined  myself  to  a nod. 

"Well,  so  did  1.  Yet,  after  a year,  back 
she  went.” 

"She  went  suddenly?”  I suggested. 

"So  suddenly  that  I never  knew  a thing 
about  it  till  after  she  was  gone.  I came 
to  do  my  chores  one  day,  and  she  was 
here.  I came  the  next,  and  she  had 
started  back  to  Australia.  'That’s  how 
sudden  she  went.” 

'"They  must  have  had  a falling-out,”  I 
conjectured.  "I  suppose  it  was  because  of 
the  house.” 

"Maybe  it  was  and  maybe  it  wasn’t.” 

"You  know  of  other  reasons?” 

"I  have  eyes  in  my  head,”  she  said. 
"But  I’m  not  going  to  talk  about  it.  Shall 
we  be  getting  on  now,  sir?” 

I tried  another  lead: 

"I  hadn’t  seen  my  uncle  in  five  years, 
you  know.  He  seemed  terribly  changed. 
He  was  not  an  old  man,  by  any  means, 

yet  when  I saw  him  at  the  funeral ” 

I paused,  expeaantly. 

To  my  relief,  she  responded  readily: 

' "He  looked  that  way  for  the  last  few 
months,  especially  the  last  week.  I spoke 
to  him  about  it,  two  days  before — before 
it  happened,  sir — and  told  him  he’d  do 
well  to  see  the  doaot)  again.  But  he  cut 
me  off  short.  My  sister  took  sick  the  same 
day,  and  I was  called  out  of  town.  'The 
next  time  I saw  him,  he  was ” 

She  paused,  and  then  went  on,  sob- 
bing: "To  think  of  him  lyin’  there  in  that 
awful  place,  and  callin’  and  callin’  for 
me,  as  I know  he  must,  and  me  not 
around  to  hear  him!” 


BEYOND  THE  DOOR 


413 


..  As  she  stopped  again,  suddenly,  and 
threw  a suspicious  glance  at  me,  I has- 
tened to  insert  a matter-of-faa  question: 

"Did  he  appear  ill  on  that  last  day?” 

"Not  so  much  ill,  as ” 

"Yes?”  I prompted. 

She  was  silent  a long  time,  while  I 
waited,  afraid  that  some  word  of  mine 
had  brought  back  her  former  attitude  of 
hostility.  Then  she  seemed  to  make  up 
her  mind. 

"I  oughtn’t  to  say  another  word.  I’ve 
said  too  much,  already.  But  you’ve  been 
liberal  with  me,  sir,  and  I know  some- 
thin’ you’ve  a right  to  be  told,  which  I’m 
thinkin’  no  one  else  is  a-goin’  to  tell  you. 
Look  at  the  bottom  of  his  study  door  a 
minute,  sir.” 

I followed  her  direction.  What  I saw 
led  jme  to  drop  to.  my  hands  and  knees, 
the  better  to  examine  it. 

"Why  should  he  put  a rubber  strip  on 
the  bottom  of  his  door?”  I asked,  getting 

“P- 

She  replied  with  another  enigmatical 
suggestion:  "Look  at  these,  if  you  will, 
sir.  You’ll  remember  that  he  slept  in  this 
study.  That  was  his  bed,  over  there  in  the 
alcove.” 

"Bolts!”  I exclaimed.  And  I reinforced 
sight  with  touch  by  shooting  one  of  them 
back  and  forth  a few  times.  "Double 
bolts  on  the  inside  of  his  bedroom  door! 
An  upstairs  room,  at  that.  What  was  the 
idea?” 

Mrs.  Malkin  portentously  shook  her 
head  and  sighed,  as  one  unburdening  her 
mind. 

"Only  this  can  I say,  sir:  He  was 
afraid  of  something — terribly  afraid,  sir. 
Something  that  came  in  the  night.” 

"What  was  it?”  I demanded. 

"I  don’t  know,  sir.” 

"It  was  in  the  night  that  — it  hap- 
pened?” I asked. 

She  nodded;  then,  as  if  the  prologue 


were  over,  as  if  she  had  prepared  my 
mind  sufficiently,  she  produced  some- 
thing from  under  her  apron.  She  must 
have  been  holding  it  there  all  the  time. 

"It’s  his  diary,  sir.  It  was  lying  here 
on  the  floor.  I saved  it  for  you,  before  the 
police  could  get  their  hands  on  it.” 

I opened  the  little  book.  One  of  the 
sheets  near  the  back  was  crumpled,  and 
I glanced  at  it,  idly.  What  I read  there 
impelled  me  to  slap  the  covers  shut  again. 

"Did  you  read  this?”  I demanded. 

She  met  my  gaze,  frankly. 

"I  looked  into  it,  sir,,  just  as  you  did — 
only  just  looked  into  it.  Not  for  worlds 
would  I do  even  that  again!” 

"I  noticed  some  reference  here  to  a slab 
in  the  cellar.  What  slab  is  that?” 

"It  covers  an  old,  dried-up  well,  sir.” 

"Will  you  show  it  to  me?” 

"You  can  find  it  for  yourself,  sir,  if 
you  wish.  I’m  not  goin’  down  there,” 
she  said,  decidedly. 

"Ah,  well.  I’ve  seen  enough  for  to- 
day,” I told  her.  "I’ll  take  the  diary  bade 
to  my  hotel  and  read  it.” 

I DID  not  return  to  my  hotel,  however. 

In  my  one  brief  glance  into  the  linle 
book,  I had  seen  something  which  had 
bitten  into  my  soul;  only  a few  words, 
but  they  had  brought  me  very  near  to  that 
queer,  solitary  man  who  had  been  my 
unde. 

I dismissed  Mrs.  Malkin,  and  remained 
in  the  study.  There  was  the  fitting  place 
to  read  the  diary  he  had  left  behind  him. 

His  personality  lingered  like  a vapor  in 
that  study.  I settled  into  his  deep  morris 
chair,  and  turned  it  to  catch  the  light 
from  the  single,  narrow  window  — the 
light,  doubtless,  by  which  he  had  written 
much  of  his  work  on  entomology. 

That  same  struggling  illumination 
played  shadowy  tricks  with  hosts  of  wall- 
crucified  insects,  which  seemed  engaged 


414 


WEIRD  TALES 


in  a united  effort  to  crawl  upward  in  sin- 
uous lines.  Some  of  Aeir  number,  im- 
paled to  the  ceiling  itself,  peered  qurver- 
ingly  down  on  the  aspiring  multitude. 
The  whole  house,  with  its  crisp  dead, 
rustling  in  any  vagrant  breeze,  brought 
back  to  my  mind  the  hand  that  had 
pinned  them,  one  by  one,  on  wall  and 
ceiling  and  furniture.  A kindly  hand,  I 
refleaed,  though  eccentric;  one  not  to  be 
turned  aside  from  its  single  hobby. 

When  quiet,  peering  Uncle  Godfrey 
went,  there  passed  out  another  of  those 
scientific  enthusiasts,  whose  passion  for 
exaa  truth  in  some  one  direaion  has  ex- 
tended the  bounds  of  human  knowledge. 
Could  not  his  unquestioned  merits  have 
been  balanced  against  his  sin?  Was  it 
necessary  to  even-handed  justice  that  he 
die  face-to-face  with  Horror,  struggling 
with  the  thing  he  most  feared?  I ponder 
the  question  still,  thbu^  his  body  — 
strangely  bruised  — has  been  long  at  rest. 

The  entries  in  the  little  book  began 
with  the  fifteenth  of  June.  Every- 
thing before  that  date  had  t^en  torn  out. 
There;  in  the  room  where  it  had  been 
written,  I read  nqr  Unde  Godfrey's  diary: 

"It  is  done.  I am  trembling  so  that  the 
words  will  hardly  form  under  my  pen, 
but  my  mind  is  collected.  My  course  was 
for  Ae  best.  Suppose  I had  married  her? 
She  would  have  been  unwilling  to  live  in 
this  house.  At  the  outset,  her  wishes 
would  have  come  between  me  and  my 
woik,  and  Aat  would  have  been  only  Ae 
beginning. 

"As  a married  man,  I could  not  have 
concentrated  properly,  ! o>uld  not  have 
surrounded  mysdf  wiA  Ac  atmosphere 
indispensable  to  Ae  writing  of  book. 
My  scientific  message  would  never  have 
bera  delivered.  As  it  is,  Aough  my  heart 
is  sore,  I shall  sdfle  Aese  memories  in 
work. 


"I  wish  I had  been  more  gentle  with 
her,  especially  when  she  sank  to  her 
knees  before  me,  tonight.  She  kissed  my 
hand.  I should  not  have  repulsed  her  so 
roughly.  In  particular,  my  words  could 
have  been  better  chosen.  I said  to  her, 
bitterly:  *Get  up,  and  don't  nuzzle  my 
hand  like  a dog.*  She  rose,  wiAout  a 
word,  and  left  me.  How  was  I to  know 

Aat,  wiAin  an  hour 

"I  am  largely  to  blame.  Yet  had  I 
taken  any  oAer  course  afterward  Aan‘  Ae 
one  I did,  the  auAorities  would  have  mis- 
understood." 

Again,  Acre  followed  a space  from 
L which  Ae  sheets  had  been  tom;  but 
from  Ae  sixteenA  of  July,  all  Ae  pages 
were  intact.  SomeAing  had  come  over 
Ae  writing,  too.  It  was  still  precise  and- 
clear — my  Uncle  Godfrey’s  dtaracteristic 
hand — but  Ac  letters  were  less  firm.  As 
the  entries  approaAed  the  end,  Ais  dif- 
ference became  still  more  marked. 

Here  follows,  Aen,  Ae  whole  of  his 
story;  or  as  much  of  it  as  will  ever  be 
known.  1 shall  let  his  words  speak  for 
him,  wiAout  furAer  intermptioa: 

"My  nerves  are  becoming  more  serious- 
ly aff^ed.  If  certain  annoyances  do  not 
shortly  cease,  I Aali  be  obliged  to  procure 
medk^  advke.  To  be  more  specific,  I 
find  myself,  at  times,  obsessed  by  an  ai- 
most  unconttollable  desire  to  descend  to 
Ae  cellar  and  lift  Ae  slab  over  Ae  old 
well. 

"1  never  have  yidded  to  Ae  impulse, 
but  it  has  persisted  for  minutes  togeAer 
wlA  such  intensity  Aat  1 have  had  to  put 
woik  aside,  and  literally  hold  mysdf 
down  in  my  chair.  This  insane  desire 
comes  only  in  Ae  dead  of  nigbt,  when 
its  disquieting  effea  is  heightened  by  Ae 
various  noises  peculiar  to  Ae  house. 

"For  instance,  there  often  is  a draft  of 
air  along  Ae  hallways,  which  causes  a 


BEYOND  THE  DOOR 


415 


rustling  among  the  specimens  impaled  on 
the  wails.  Lately,  too,  there  have  been 
other  nocturnal  sounds,  strongly  sugges- 
tive of  the  busy  clamor  of  rats  and  mice. 
This  calls  for  investigation.  I have  been 
at  considerable  expense  to  make  the  house 
proof  against  rodents,  which  might  de- 
stroy some  of  my  best  specimens.  If  some 
structural  defea  has  opened  a way  for 
them,  the  situation  must  be  correaed  at 
once. 

"July  17th.  The  foimdations  and  cel- 
lar were  examined  today  by  a workman. 
He  states  positively  that  there  is  no  place 
of  ingress  for  rodents.  He  contented  him- 
self with  looking  at  the  slab  over  the  old 
well,  without  lifting  it. 

"July  19th.  While  I was  sitting  in  this 
chair,  late  last  night,  writing,  the  impulse 
to- descend  to  the  cellar  suddenly  came 
upon  me  with  tremendous  insistence.  I 
yielded  — which,  perhaps,  was  as  well. 
For  at  least  I satisfied  myself  that  the  dis- 
quiet which  possessed  me  has  no  external 
catise. 

"The  long  journey  through  the  hall- 
ways was  difl5.cult.  Several  times,  I was 
keenly  aware  of  the  same  sounds  (per- 
haps I should  say,  the  same  impressions 
of  sounds)  that  I had  erroneously  laid  to 
rats.  I am  convinced  now  that  they  are 
mere  symptoms  of  my  nervous  condition. 
Further  indications  of  this  came  in  the 
faa  that,  as  I opened  the  cellar  door,  the 
small  noises  abruptly  ceased.  There  was 
no  final  scamper  of  tiny  footfalls  to  sug- 
gest rats  disturbed  at  their  occupations. 

"Indeed,  I was  conscious  of  a certain 
impression  of  expeaant  silence  — as  if 
the  thing  behind  the  noises,  whatever  it 
was,  had  paused  to  watch  me  enter  its 
dominion.  Throughout  my  time  in  the 
cellar,  I seemed  surrounded  by  this  same 
atmosphere.  Sheer  'nerves,’  of  course. 

"In  the  main,  I held  myself  well  under 
control.  As  I was  about  to  leave  the  cel- 
lar, however,  I unguardedly  glanced  back 


over  my  shoulder  at  the  stone  slab  cover- 
ing the  old  well.  At  that,  a violent  uem- 
or  came  over  me,  and,  losing  dl  com- 
mand, I rushed  back  up  the  cellar  stairs, 
thence  to  this  study.  My  nerves  are  play- 
ing me  sorry  tricks. 

"July  30th.  For  more  than  a week,  all 
has  been  well.  The  tone  of  my  nerves 
seems  distinaly  better.  Mrs.  Malkin, 
who  has  remarked  several  times  lately 
upon  my  paleness,  expressed  the  convic- 
tion this  afternoon  that  I am  nearly  my 
old  self  again.  This  is  encouraging.  I 
was  beginning  to  fear  that  the  severe 
strain  of  the  past  few  months  had  left  an 
indelible  mark  upon  me.  With  contin- 
ued health,  I shall  be  able  to  finish  my 
book  by  spring. 

"July  31st.  Mrs.  Malkin  remained 
rather  late  tonight  in  connection  with 
some  item  of  housework,  and  it  was  quite 
dark  when  I returned  to  my  study  from 
bolting  the  street  door  after  her.  The 
blackness  of  the  upper  hall,  which  the 
former  owner  of  the  house  inexplicably 
failed  to  wire  for  elearicity,  was  pro- 
found. As  I came  to  the  top  of  the  sec- 
ond flight  of  stairs,  something  clutched 
at  my  foot,  and,  for  an  instant,  almost 
pulled  me  back.  I freed  myself  and  ran 
to  the  study. 

"August  3rd.  Again  the  awful  insist- 
ence. I sat  here,  with  this  diary  upon  my 
knee,  and  it  seems  that  fingers  of  iron  are 
tearing  at  me.  I will  not  go!  My  nerves 
may  be  utterly  imstrung  again  (I  fear 
they  are),  but  I am  still  their  master. 

"August  4th.  I did  not  yield,  last 
night.  After  a bitter  struggle,  which  must 
have  lasted  nearly  an  hour,  the  desire  to 
go  to  the  cellar  suddenly  departed.  I 
must  not  give  in  at  any  time. 

"August  5th.  Tonight,  the  rat  noises 
(I  shall  call  them  that  for  want  of  a more 
appropriate  term)  are  very  noticeable.  I 
went  to  the  length  of  unbolting  my  door 
and  stepping  into  the  hallway  to  listen. 


4t6 


WEIRD  TALES 


After  a few  ininutes,  I seemed  to  be 
aware  of  something  large  and  gtaj  watdi* 
ing  me  from  the  daricness  at  the  end  of 
the  passage.  This  is  a bizarre  statement, 
of  course,  but  it  exaaly  describes  my  im- 
pression. I withdrew  hastily  into  the 
study,  and  bolted  the  door. 

“Now  that  my  nervous  condition  is  so 
palpably  affecting  the  c^tic  nerve,  I must 
not  much  longer  delay  seeing  a specialist. 
But — ^how  much  shall  I tell  him.^ 

“August  8th.  Several  times,  tonight, 
while  sitting  here  at  my  work,  I have 
seemed  to  hear  soft  footsteps  in  the  pas- 
sage. 'Nerves’  again,  of  course,  or  else 
some  new  trick  of  the  wind  among  die 
specimens  on  the  walls. 

"August  9th.  By  my  watdi  it  is  four 
o’clock  in  the  morning.  My  mind  is  made 
up  to  record  the  experience  1 have  passed 
through.  Calmness  may  come  diat  way. 

“Feeling  rather  fatigued  last  ni^t, 
from  the  strain  of  a weary  day  of  re- 
search, I retired  early.  My  sleep  was  more 
refreshing  than  usual,  as  it  is  likely  to  be 
when  one  is  genuinely  tired.  I awakened, 
however  (it  must  have  been  about  an 
hour  ago),  with  a start  of  tremendous 
violence. 

“There  was  moonlight  in  the  room. 
My  nerves  were  'on  edge,’  but,  for  a mo- 
ment, I saw  nothing  unusual.  Then, 
glancing  toward  die  door,  I perceived 
what  appeared  to  be  thin,  white  fingers, 
thrust  under  it — exaaly  as  if  some  one 
outside  the  door  were  trying  to  attraa  my 
attenrion  in  that  manner.  I rose  and 
turned  on  the  light,  but  the  fingers  were 
gone. 

“Needless  to  say,  I did  not  open  the 
door.  I write  the  occurrence  down,  just 
as  it  took  place,  or  as  it  seemed;  but  I can 
not  trust  myself  to  comment  upon  it. 

“August  10th.  Have  fastened  heavy 
rubber  strips  on  the  bottom  of  my  door. 

“August  l^h.  All  quiet,  for  several 
nights.  I am  hoping  that  the  rubber 


strips,  being  something  definite  and  tan- 
gible, have  had  a salutary  effea  upcm  my 
nerves.  Perhaps  I shall  not  need  to  see  a 
doaor. 

"August  17di.  Once  more  I have  been 
aroused  from  sleep.  The  interruptions 
seem  to  come  always  at  the  same  hour — 
about  three  o’clock  in  the  morning.  I had 
been  dreaming  of  the  well  in  the  cellar 
— the  same  dream,  over  and  over — every- 
thing black  except  the  slab,  and  a figure 
with  bowed  head  and  averted  face  sitting 
there.  Ako,  I had  vague  dreams  about  a 
dog.  Can  it  be  that  my  last  words  to  her 
have  impressed  that  on  my  mind.’  I must 
pull  myself  together.  In  panicular,  I 
must  not,  under  any  pressure,  yield,  and 
visit  the  cellar  after  nightfalL 

"August  18th.  Am  feeling  much  more 
hc^>eful.  Mrs.  Malkin  remarked  on  it, 
while  serving  dinner.  'This  improvement 
is  due  largely  to  a consultation  I have  had 
widi  Dr.  Sartwell,  the  distinguished  spe- 
cialist in  nervous  diseases.  I went  into 
full  details  with  him,  excepting  certain 
reservations.  He  scouted  die  idea  that  my 
experiences  could  be  other  than  purely 
menul. 

“When  he  reoimmended  a change  of 
scene  (which  I had  been  expecting),  I 
told  him  positively  that  it  was  out  of  the 
quesdon.  He  said  then  that,  with  the  aid 
of  a tonic  and  an  occasioiul  sleeping- 
draft,  I am  likely  to  progress  well  enough 
at  home.  This  is  distinaly  encouraging. 
I erred  in  not  going  to  him  at  the  surt. 
Without  doubt,  most,  if  not  all,  of  my 
hallucinations  could  have  been  averted. 

“I  have  been  suffering  a needless  pen- 
alty from  my  nerves  for  an  action  I took 
solely  in  the  interests  of  science.  I have 
no  disposition  to  tolerate  it  furdier.  From 
today  I shall  report  regularly  to  Dr.  Sart- 
well. 

“August  lS>th.  Used  the  sleeping-draft 
last  night,  with  gratifying  results.  The 
doaor  says  I must  repeat  the  dose  for 

W.T,— 8 


BEYOND  THE  DOOR 


417 


several  nights,  until  tnjr  nerves  are  well 
under  control  again. 

“August  21$t.  Ail  well.  It  seems  that 
I have  found  the  way  out — a very  simple 
and  prosaic  way.  I might  have  avoided 
much  needless  annoyance  by  seeking  ex- 
pert advice  at  the  beginning.  Before  re- 
tiring, last  night,  I unbolted  my  study 
door  and  took  a turn  up  and  down  the 
passage.  I felt  no  trepidation.  The  place 
was  as  it  used  to  be,  before  these  fancies 
assailed  me.  A visit  to  the  cellar  after 
nightfall  will  be  the  test  for  my  complete 
recovery,  but  I am  not  yet  <juite  ready 
for  that.  Patience! 

"August  22nd.  I have  just  read  yes- 
terday's entry,  thinking  to  steady  myself. 
It  is  cheerful — almost  gay;  and  there  are 
other  entries  like  it  in  preceding  pages. 

am  a mouse,  in  the  grip  of  a cat.  Let 
me  have  freedom  for  ever  so  short  a time, 
and  I begin  to  rejoice  at  my  escape.  Then 
the  paw  descends  again. 

"It  is  four  in  the  morning — ^the  usual 
hour.  I retired  rather  late,  last  night, 
after  administering  the  draft.  Instead  of 
the  dreamless  sleep,  which  heretofore  has 
followed  the  use  of  the  drug,  the  slumber 
into  which  I fell  was  punctuated  by  recur- 
rent visions  of  the  slab,  with  the  bowed 
figure  upon  it  Also,  I had  one  poignant 
dream  in  which  the  dog  was  involved. 

"At  length,  I awakened,  and  reached 
mechanically  for  the  light  switdi  beside 
my  bed.  When  my  hand  encountered 
nothing,  I suddenly  realized  the  truth.  I 
was  standing  in  my  study,  with  my  other 
hand  upon  the  doorknob.  It  required 
only  a moment,  of  course,  to  find  the 
light  and  switdi  it  on.  I saw  then  that 
the  bolt  had  been  drawn  bade. 

"The  door  was  quite  unlocked.  My 
awakening  must  have  interrupted  me  in 
the  very  aa  of  opening  it.  I could  hear 
something  moving  restlessly  in  the  pas- 
sage outside  the  door. 

"August  23rd.  I must  beware  of  sleep- 
W.T.— 9 


ing  at  night.  Without  confiding  the  fact 
to  Dr.  Sartweil,  I have  begun  to  take  the 
drug  in  the  daytime.  At  first,  Mrs.  Mal- 
kin’s views  on  the  subjea  were  pro- 
nounced, but  my  explanation  of  ‘doaor's 
orders’  has  silenced  her.  I am  awake  for 
breakfast  and  supper,  and  sleep  in  the 
hours  between,  ^e  is  leaving  me,  each 
evening,  a cold  lunch  to  be  eaten  at  mid- 
night. 

"August  26th.  Several  times  I have 
caught  myself  nodding  in  my  chair.  The 
last  time,  I am  sure  that,  on  arousing,  1 
perceived  the  rubber  strip  under  the  door 
bent  inward,  as  if  someAing  were  push- 
ing it  from  the  other  side.  I must  not, 
under  any  circumstances,  permit  myself  to 
fall  asleep. 

"September  2nd.  Mrs.  Malkin  is  to  be 
away,  because  of  her  sister’s  illness.  I can 
not  help  dreading  her  absence.  Though 
she  is  here  only  in  the  daytime,  even  that 
companionship  is  very  welcome. 

"September  3rd.  Let  me  put  this  into 
writing.  The  mere  labor  of  composition 
has  a soothing  influence  upon  me.  God 
knows,  I need  such  an  influence  now,  as 
never  before! 

"In  spite  of  all  my  watchfulness,  I fell 
asleep,  tonight — across  my  bed.  I must 
have  been  utterly  exhaust^.  The  dream 
I had  was  the  one  about  the  dog.  I was 
patting  the  creature’s  head,  over  and  over. 

"I  awoke,  at  last,  to  find  myself  in 
darkness,  and  in  a standing  position. 
There  was  a suggestion  of  chill  and 
earthiness  in  the  air.  While  I was  drow- 
sily trying  to  get  my  bearings,  I became 
aware  that  something  was  nuzzling  my 
hand,  as  a dog  might  do. 

"Still  saturated  with  my  dream,  I was 
not  greatly  astonished.  I extended  my 
hand,  to  pat  the  dog’s  head.  That 
brou^t  me  to  my  senses.  I was  stand- 
ing in  the  cellar. 

"The  thing  before  me  was  not  a dog! 

"I  can  not  tell  how  I fled  back  up  the 


418 


WEIRD  TALES 


cellar  stairs.  I know,  however,  that,  as  I 
turned,  the  slab  was  visible,  in  spite  of 
the  darkness,  with  something  sitting  upon 
it.  All  the  way  up  the  stairs,  hands 
snatched  at  my  feet.” 

This  entry  seemed  to  finish  the  diary, 
for  blank  pages  followed  it;  but  I 
remembered  the  crumpled  sheet,  near  the 
back  of  the  book.  It  was  partly  torn  out, 
as  if  a hand  had  clutched  it,  convulsively. 
The  writing  on  it,  too,  was  markedly  in 
contrast  to  the  precise,  albeit  nervous  pen- 
manship of  even  the  last  entry  I had 
perused.  I was  forced  to  hold  the  scrawl 
up  to  the  light  to  decipher  it.  This  is 
what  I read: 

"My  hand  keeps  on  writing,  in  spite 
of  myself.  What  is  this?  I do  not  wish 
to  write,  but  it  compels  me.  Yes,  yes,  I 
will  tell  the  truth,  I will  tell  the  truth.” 

A heavy  blot  followed,  partly  covering 
the  writing.  With  difficulty,  I made  it 
out: 

"The  guilt  is  mine  — mine  only.  I 
loved  her  too  well,  yet  I was  unwilling  to 
marry,  though  she  entreated  me  on  her 
knees  — though  she  kissed  my  hand.  I 
told  her  my  scientific  work  came  first. 
She  did  it,  herself.  I was  not  expeaing 
that — I swear  I was  not  expeaing  it.  But 
I was  afraid  the  authorities  would  mis- 
understand. So  I took  what  seemed  the 
best  course.  She  had  no  friends  here  who 
would  inquire. 

"It  is  waiting  outside  my  door.  I feel 
it.  It  compels  me,  through  my  thoughts. 
My  hand  keeps  on  writing.  I must  not 
fall  asleep.  I must  think  only  of  what  I 

am  writing.  I must ” 

Then  came  the  words  I had  seen  when 
Mrs.  Malkin  had  handed  me  the  book. 
They  were  written  very  large.  In  places, 
the  pen  had  dug  through  the  paper. 
Though  they  were  scrawled,  I read  them 
at  a glance: 

"Not  the  slab  in  the  cellar!  Not  that! 


Oh,  my  God,  anything  but  that!  Any- 
thing  ” 

By  what  strange  compulsion  was  the 
hand  forced  to  write  down  what  was  in 
the  brain;  even  to  the  ultimate  thoughts; 
even  to  those  final  words? 

The  gray  light  from  outside,  slanting 
down  through  two  dull  little  win- 
dows, sank  into  the  sodden  hole  near  the 
inner  wall.  The  coroner  and  I stood  in 
the  cellar,  but  not  too  near  the  hole. 

A small,  demonstrative,  dark  man  — 
the  chief  of  daeaives  — stood  a little 
apart  from  us,  his  eyes  intent,  his  natural 
animation  suppressed.  We  were  watch- 
ing the  stooped  shoulders  of  a police  con- 
stable, who  was  angling  in  the  well. 

"See  anything,  Walters?”  inquired  the 
deteaive,  raspingly. 

The  policeman  shook  his  head. 

The  little  man  turned  his  questioning 
to  me. 

"You’re  quite  sure?”  he  demanded. 
"Ask  the  coroner.  He  saw  the  diary,” 
I told  him. 

"I’m  afraid  there  can  be  no  doubt,” 
the  coroner  confirmed,  in  his  heavy,  tired 
voice. 

He  was  an  old  man,  with  lack-luster 
eyes.  It  had  seemed  best  to  me,  on  the 
whole,  that  he  should  read  my  imcle’s 
diary.  His  position  entitled  him  to  all 
the  available  faas.  What  we  were  seek- 
ing in  the  well  might  especially  concern 
him. 

He  looked  at  me  opaquely  now,  while 
the  policeman  bent  double  again.  'Then 
he  spoke — like  one  who  reluaantly  and 
at  last  does  his  duty.  He  nodded  toward 
the  slab  of  gray  stone,  which  lay  in  the 
shadow  to  the  left  of  the  well. 

"It  doesn’t  seem  very  heavy,  does  it?” 
he  suggested,  in  an  imdertone. 

I shook  my  head.  "Still,  it’s  stone,”  I 


BEYOND  THE  DOOR 


419 


demurred.  "A  man  would  have  to  be 
rather  strong  to  lift  it." 

"To  lift  it — yes.”  He  glanced  about 
the  cellar.  "Ah,  I forgpt,"  he  said, 
abruptly.  "It  is  in  my  office,  as  part  of 
the  evidence."  He  went  on,  half  to  him- 
self: "A  man  — even  thougji  not  very 
strong — could  take  a stick — for  instance, 
the  stick  that  is  now  in  my  office — and 
prop  up  the  slab,  if  he  wished  to  look 
into  the  well,"  he  whispered. 

The  policeman  interrupted,  straighten- 
ing again  with  a groan,  and  laying  his 
electric  torch  beside  the  well. 

"It's  breaking  my  back,”  he  com- 
plained. "There’s  dirt  down  there.  It 
seems  loose,  but  I can’t  get  through  it. 
Somebody'll  have  to  go  down.” 

The  detective  cut  in,  "I’m  lifter  than 
you,  Walters.” 

“I’m  not  afraid,  sir.” 

“I  didn’t  say  you  were,”  die  little  man 
snapped.  “There’s  nothing  down  there, 
anyway  — though  we’ll  have  to  prove 
that,  I suppose.”  He  glanced  truculently 
at  me,  but  went  on  talking  to  the  con- 
stable: "Rig  the  rope  around  me,  and 
don’t  bungle  the  knot.  I’ve  no  intention 
of  falling  into  the  place.” 

"There  is  something  there,”  whispered 
the  coroner,  slowly,  to  me.  His  eyes  left 
the  little  deteaive  and  the  policeman, 
carefully  tying  and  testing  knots,  and 
turned  again  to  the  square  slab  of  stone. 

"Suppose — while  a man  was  looking 
into  that  hole — with  the  stone  propped 
up  — he  should  accidentally  knock  the 
prop  away.?”  He  was  still  whispering. 

"A  stone  so  light  that  he  could  prop 
it  up  wouldn’t  be  heavy  enough  to  kill 
him,”  I objeaed. 

"No.”  He  laid  a hand  on  my  shoul- 
der. “Not  to  kill  him — ^to  paralyze  him 
— if  it  struck  the  spine  in  a certain  way. 
To  render  him  helpless,  but  not  unccwi- 
scious.  The  post  mortem  would  disclose 
that,  through  the  bruises  on  the  body.” 


The  policeman  and  the  detective  had 
adjusted  the  knots  to  their  satisfaction. 
They  were  bickering  now  as  to  the  details 
of  the  descent. 

"Would  that  cause  death?”  I whis- 
pered. 

"You  must  remember  diat  the  house- 
keeper was  absent  for  two  days.  In  two 
days,  even  that  pressure” — ^he  stared  at 
me  hard,  to  make  sure  that  I understood 
— "with  the  head  down ” 

Again  the  policeman  interrupted:  "I’ll 
stand  at  the  well,  if  you  gentlemen  will 
grab  die  rope  behind  me.  It  won’t  be 
much  of  a pull.  I’ll  take  the  brunt  of  it.” 

We  let  the  little  man  down,  with  the 
electric  torch  strapped  to  his  waist,  and 
some  sort  of  implement — a trowel  or  a 
small  spade — in  his  hand.  It  seemed  a 
long  time  before  his  voice,  ciuiously  hol- 
low, directed  us  to  stop.  The  hole  must 
have  been  deep. 

We  braced  ourselves.  I was  second, 
the  coroner  last.  The  policeman  relieved 
his  strain  somewhat  by  snagging  the  rope 
against  the  edge  of  the  well,  but  I mar- 
veled, nevertheless,  at  the  ease  with  which 
he  held  the  weight.  Very  little  of  it  came 
to  me. 

A noise  like  muffled  scratching  reached 
us  from  below.  Occasionally  the  rope 
shook  and  shifted  slighdy  at  the  edge  of 
the  hole.  At  last  the  detective’s  hollow 
voice  spoke. 

"What  does  he  say?”  the  coroner  de- 
manded. 

The  policeman  turned  his  square, 
dogged  face  toward  us. 

"I  think  he’s  found  something,”  he  ex- 
plained. 

The  rope  jerked  and  shifted  again. 
Some  sort  of  struggle  seemed  to  be  going 
on  below.  The  weight  suddenly  in- 
creased, and  as  suddenly  lessened,  as  if 
something  had  been  grasped,  then  had 
managed  to  elude  the  grasp  and  slip 
away.  I could  catch  the  deteaive’s  rapid' 


420 


WEIRD  TALES 


breathing  now,  also  the  sound  of  inartic- 
ulate speech  in  his  hollow  voice. 

The  next  words  I caught  came  more 
clearly.  They  were  a command  to  pull 
up.  At  the  same  moment,  the  weight  on 
the  rope  grew  heavier,  and  remained  so. 

The  policeman’s  big  shoulders  began 
straining,  rhythmically. 

"All  together,”  he  direaed.  "Take  it 
easy.  Pull  when  I do.” 

Slowly,  the  rope  passed  through  our 
hands.  With  each  fresh  grip  that  we 
took,  a small  seaion  of  it  dropped  to  the 
floor  behind  us.  I began  to  feel  the  strain. 
I could  tell  from  the  coroner’s  labored 
breathing  that  he  felt  it  more,  being  an 
old  man.  The  policeman,  however, 
seemed  untiring. 

'The  rope  tightened,  suddenly,  and 
there  was  an  ejaculation  from  below — 
just  below.  Still  holding  fast,  the  police- 
man contrived  to  stoop  over  and  look. 
He  translated  the  ejaculation  for  us. 

"Let  down  a little.  He’s  smck  with  it 
against  the  side.” 

We  slackened  the  rope,  until  the  de- 
teaive’s  voice  gave  us  the  word  again. 

The  rhythmic  mgging  continued.  Some- 
thing dark  appeared,  quite  abruptly,  at 
the  top  of  the  hole.  My  nerves  leapt  in 
spite  of  me,  but  it  was  merely  the  top  of 
the  detective’s  head  — his  dark  hair. 
Something  white  came  next  — his  pale 
face,  with  staring  eyes.  'Then  his  shoul- 
ders, bowed  forward,  the  better  to  sup- 
port what  was  in  his  arms.  Tlien 

I looked  away;  but,  as  he  laid  his  bur- 
den down  at  the  side  of  the  well,  the 
deteaive  whispered  to  xis: 

"He  had  her  covered  up  with  dirt — 
covered  up.  . . .” 

He  began  to  laugh  — a little,  high 


cackle,  like  a child’s — until  the  coroner 
took  him  by  the  shoulders  and  deliberate- 
ly shook  him.  Then  the  policeman  led 
him  out  of  the  cellar. 

IT  WAS  not  then,  but  afterward,  that  I 
put  my  question  to  the  coroner. 

"Tell  me,”  I demanded.  "People  pass 
there  at  all  hours.  Why  didn’t  my  uncle 
call  for  help?” 

"I  have  thought  of  that,”  he  replied. 
"I  believe  he  did  call.  I think,  probably, 
he  screamed.  But  his  head  was  down, 
and  he  couldn’t  raise  it.  His  screams 
must  have  been  swallowed  up  in  the 
well.” 

"You  are  sure  he  didn’t  murder  her?” 
He  had  given  me  that  assurance  before, 
but  I wished  it  again. 

"Almost  sure,”  he  declared,  "though  it 
was  on  his  account,  undoubtedly,  that  she 
killed  herself.  Few  of  us  are  punished 
as  accurately  for  oiur  sins  as  he  was.” 

One  should  be  thankful,  even  for 
crumbs  of  comfort.  I am  thankful. 

But  there  are  times  when  my  uncle’s 
face  rises  before  me.  After  all,  we  were 
the  same  blood;  our  sympathies  had  much 
in  common;  under  any  given  circum- 
stances, our  thoughts  and  feelings  must 
have  been  largely  the  same.  I seem  to  see 
him  in  that  flnal  death  march  along  the 
luilighted  passageway  — obeying  an  im- 
perative summons — going  on,  step  by 
step — down  the  stairway  to  the  first  floor, 
down  the  cellar  stairs — at  last,  lifting  the 
slab. 

I tty  not  to  think  of  the  final  expiation. 
Yet  was  it  final?  I wonder.  Did  the  last 
Door  of  all,  when  it  opened,  find  him 
willing  to  pass  through?  Or  was  Some- 
thing waiting  beyond  theU  Door? 


The  stories  of  Clark  Ashton  Smith  have  aroused  tremendous  enthusiasm  in  our 
readers.  Mr.  Smith,  whose  poetry  has  been  one  of  the  brightest  features  of 
Weird  Tales,  is  now  hailed  by  many  as  a new  find  in  the  fiaion  world  be- 
cause of  the  high  literary  quality  and  compelling  fantasy  of  his  short  tales  in  this 
maga2ine. 

V.  P.  Miner,  of  Sacramento,  California,  writes  to  the  Eyrie:  "Just  a note  of  appre- 
ciation, nothing  more;  a man  and  his  work — no  matter  how  great  his  tasks — must  oc- 
casionally be  compelled  to  pause  now  and  then  and  listen  for  echoes.  Lately  I have 
come  upon  a story  now  and  then  by  Clark  Ashton  Smith.  I believe  you  have  recog- 
nized an  artist  and  put  him  to  work.  His  stories  have  care;  there  are  beauty  and  art  in 
every  line.  His  imagination  is  distina;  the  mystery  of  his  backgrour’d  is  amazing. 
And  within  it  all  there  exists  a philosophy.  I believe  you  have  reached  out  among  the 
thousands  of  present-day  writers  and  placed  your  hands  on  a real  'find’.  I desire  to 
express  the  kind  sentiments  of  this  household  for  the  rich  hours  of  entertainment  that 
the  stories  in  Weird  Tales  have  given  us.” 

A letter  from  Frank  L.  Pollock,  of  Shedden,  Ontario,  says:  "In  looking  over  a copy 
of  your  magazine  I came  upon  quite  an  extraordinary  story  called  The  Last  Incanta- 
tion, by  Clark  Ashton  Smith.  I have  reread  it  several  times',  and  can  not  refrain  from 
writing  you  to  remark  upon  its  very  unusual  literary  quality.  It  has,  in  faa,  the  very 
quality  of  Poe  at  his  best — ^with  perhaps  a touch  of  Lord  Dunsany.” 

"The  'hot  seat’  wraith  story  in  the  June  issue  was  well  done,”  writes  H.  G.  Rowell 
of  New  York  City.  "Evidently  the  author  had  been  there  or  talked  with  some  one 
who  had.  The  autopsy  incision  clinched  the  truth  of  the  thing.  I judge  Sing  Sing  was 
meant.” 

Writes  Brush  Hatcher  of  Honolulu,  in  a letter  to  the  Eyrie:  "Permit  me  to  pen  a 
word  of  compliment  for  Seabury  Quinn  on  his  clever,  amusing  Jules  de  Grandin 
stories.  He  presented  a well-handled  theme  in  The  Brain-Thief.  He  manages  dialogue 
dexterously.  You  ask  your  readers  to  report  on  the  story  they  preferred  in  the  last 
issue.  The  End  of  the  Story  by  Clark  Ashton  Smith  struck  me  as  deserving  the  medal 
of  honor  in  the  May  edition.  Smith  writes  easily,  compaaly  and  without  affectation. 
He  has  a nice  seleaion  of  detail,  a neat  logical  plot,  and  a delightful  manner  of  ex- 
position. I shall  be  pleased  to  read  more  of  his  stories.” 

"I  have  eagerly  secured  every  issue  of  Weird  Tales  since  I was  first  introduced  to 
it  about  a year  ago  by  a friend,”  writes  H.  E.  Nenzel,  of  Dundalk,  Maryland.  "Hav- 

421 


422 


WEIRD  TALES 


ing  seen  many  readers  request  reprints  of  H.  P.  Lovecraft’s  worics,  I was  all  excited 
when  I saw  that  you  had  reprinted  The  Rats  in  the  Walls.  For  sheer  weirdness  and 
horror  this  story  is  hard  to  beat.  Lovecraft  is  die  best  of  them  all,  and  I would  like 
to  see  more  reprints  of  his  earlier  worics,  as  I missed  most  of  them  when  first  pub- 
lished. The  scientific  stories  by  Edmond  Hamilton  are  by  far  the  best  I have  read  any- 
where, especially  his  stories  alx>ut  the  adventures  of  the  Interstellar  Patrol.  Your  mag- 
azine satisfies  me  in  every  way  as  I have  always  been  an  avid  reader  of  uncommon 
stories." 

Ron  H.  Donachy,  of  Kane,  Pennsylvania,  rushes  to  the  defense  of  the  cover  designs, 
which  have  been  severely  criticized  in  the  Eyrie  in  recent  issues.  "While  reading  in 
the  Eyrie  of  the  June  issue  the  excellent  letter  of  Bernard  Austin  Dwyer  of  Kings- 
ton," he  writes,  "I  hit  upon  one  portion  thereof  in  which  I do  in  no  way  agree  with 
the  gentleman  named.  This  is  in  regard  to  the  cover  designs,  so  unjustly  termed  raw, 
rank  sex  appeal  by  Mr.  Dwyer.  Why  should  not  the  public  mind  run  along  the  above 
named  channels,  when  we  know  that  we  are  so  beautifully  and  wonderfully  made; 
and  who  has  become  so  unseeing  that  he  can  not  behold  beauty  and  charm  in  the  sym- 
metry of  the  human  form  en  nude?  Does  it  not  portray  weird  temptation,  allure- 
ment and  mystery  of  itself.^  Or  perhaps  does  Mr.  Dwyer  expea  you  to  portray  as  a 
cover  design  the  loathsome  horror  of  Mr.  Lovecraft’s  Dunwich  Horror  or  his  Silver 
Key,  or  perhaps  the  terrible  phantoms  of  The  Planet  of  Horror  in  the  June  issue, 
and  have  the  public  turn  sick  with  revulsion  from  the  very  sight  thereof.^  No!  no!  a 
thousand  times  no!  For  my  part  I am  perfealy  satisfied  with  the  cover  designs,  and 
can  conceive  of  no  way  where  any  change  would  be  an  improvement  in  the  least.  I 
will  agree  with  H.  P.  Stiller  of  New  York,  that  H.  P.  Lovecraft’s  Dunwich  Horror  is 
truly  a classic,  worthy  of  being  preserved  for  posterity,  as  likewise  is  his  Silver  Key,  of 
which  much  of  the  subjea  matter  therein  I deem  a true  history  of  die  mental  processes 
of  the  present  race  and  age;  and  I believe  that  next  or  equal  to  these  two  great  works 
of  Loveaaft  is  The  Hounds  of  Tindalos  by  Frank  Belknap  Long,  Jr.,  published  about 
a year  ago.  I have  read  these  three  stories  over  at  least  half  a dozen  times,  and  I assure 
you  that  when  I desire  to  read  something  with  a thrill  and  a deep  mystery  that  I can 
find  nowhere  else,  I again  turn  to  one  of  these  works;  for  with  each  reading  I always 
find  something  there  that  I hadn’t  seen  before.” 

R.  Gage,  of  Vancouver,  British  Columbia,  writes  to  the  Eyrie:  "I  am  not  going  to 
read  any  more  of  your  magazines  if  I find  any  more  of  those  queer  French  names  like 
in  The  Brain-Thief  by  S.  Quinn.  If  I liked  to  hear  French  names  I’d  live  in  France. 
Also,  I think  your  stories  are  not  so  much  weird  as  they  are  crazy.” 

'"The  June  issue  was  certainly  fine,  probably  because  it  contained  a de  Grandin 
story,”  writes  Edwin  Beard,  of  St.  Louis.  “VjTien  will  I cease  to  rave  over  that  myth- 
ical man?  And  I do  not,  as  a certain  gentleman  suggested  in  the  Eyrie,  rave  over  him 
because  others  do.  I think  for  myself,  now  and  always.  I would  like  to  read  more 
for  Weird  Tales.  My  personal  opinion,  and  all  my  professors  count  it  worthy  of  con- 
sideration, is  that  your  magazine  has  more  literary  merit  for  the  price  than  any  maga- 
zine printed  which  is  devoted  chiefly  to  fiction.” 

Readers,  what  is  your  favorite  story  in  this  issue?  The  most  popular  story  in  the 
July  number,  as  shown  by  your  votes,  was  the  last  installment  of  The  Moon  of  Skulls, 
the  Solomon  Kane  story  by  Robert  E.  Howard.  The  Bride  of  Dewer,  by  Seabury 
Quinn,  was  a close  second  to  Mr.  Howard’s  story. 


THE  EYRIE 


423 


stories  of  the  Overlord  of  G)rnwall  by  Doaor  Keller.  I enjoyed  them  immensely, 
especially  No  Other  Man.  The  Planet  of  Horror  fell  flat  for  me.  It  strove  to  reach 
the  blood-freezing  heights  attained  in  The  Space-Eaters  but  failed  utterly.  I like  my 
horrors  concrete  most  of  the  time,  abstraa  only  once  in  a while.  The  Rats  in  the  Walls 
was  certainly  chilling,  especially  the  last  two  columns.  Please  reprint  The  Infidel’s 
Daughter  ot  The  Woman  of  the  Wood.  They  are  nothing  less  than  classics.  I am 
simply  wild  over  stories  like  The  Girl  Pram  Samarcand.  I hope  more  are  printed. 
And  what  has  become  of  Greye  La  Spina?  I never  see  his  (or  is  it  her?)  stories  any 
more.”  [A  new  serial  by  Greye  La  Spina  will  begin  in  our  Oaober  issue — The  Edi- 
tors.] 

"I  thought  the  last  issue  of  Weird  Tales  a particularly  strong  one,”  writes  Clark 
Ashton  Smith.  "The  gruesome  stories,  such  as  In  the  Borderland  and  The  Frog, 
were  especially  good.  But  of  course  the  real  event  was  the  reprint  of  Lovecraft’s  The 
Rats  in  the  Walls.  I was  pleased  to  see  a story  by  Long  annoimced  for  the  next  issue. 
Long  has  a rare  imaginative  gift  and  a distinaive  style  that  is  beholden  to  nobody.” 

"Do  you  ever  get  letters  from  bona  fide  English  teachers?”  writes  Don  C.  Hilsing- 
er,  of  St.  Louis,  Michigan.  "I  am  one  myself,  but  I am  not  o*e  of  those  teachers  who 
believe  that  no  literature  was  written  before  or  after  Shakespeare.  Neither  do  I avow 
Browning  to  have  been  the  last  real  poet.  In  fact,  my  favorite  poets  and  authors  are 
not  all  dead  and  what  is  more  I defend  them  against  the  inveaives  of  my  professors. 
On  several  occasions  I have  mentioned  Weird  Tales  only  to  have  it  scorned  as  only 
a Ph.  D.  in  English  can  scorn  a magazine.  Then  one  day  I saw  the  list  of  stories  that 
this  Ph.  D.  was  teaching  in  his  short-story  class.  Ha  ha  ha!  I had  read  several  of 
them  in  Weird  Tales  and  I told  him  so.  He  registered  a very  operatic  expression  of 
surprize  and  said,  Ts  that  so?’  Then  he  proceeded  to  ponder  on  the  subjea  for  a 
while  and  finally  gave  his  decision  to  the  effea  that  if  you  published  in  your  monthly 
reprint  section  such  stories  as  the  ones  I mentioned,  the  rest  of  your  stories  would 
have  to  be  good  too,  or  your  readers  would  objea  to  them  by  comparison.  Score  six 


MY  FAVORITE  STORIES  IN  THE  SEPTEMBER  WEIRD  TALES  ARE: 

Story  Remarks 

(1) 



(3) : 

I do  not  like  the  following  stories: 

(1)  Why? 

(2)  

It  will  help  us  to  know  what  kind  of  stories 
you  want  in  Weird  Tales  if  you  will 
fill  out  this  coupon  and  mail  it  to  The 
Eyrie,  Weird  Tales,  840  N.  Michigan  Ave., 

Chicago,  111. 


r 

I Reader’s  name  and  address: 

I 

I ... 

I 


424 


WEIRD  TALES 


Another  Dracula 

{ Continued  from  page  336f 


they  stopped  directly  under  my  window 
— I could  have  hit  tfiem  with  a shoe.” 

"Why  didn’t  you?” 

"Because  I preferred  to  sit  and  watch 
them.  Didn’t  want  to  scare  them  away.” 

"But  why  didn’t  you  shoot  them?” 

'"The  farmer  for  whom  I worked 
didn't  let  any  of  the  farmhands  keep 
guns.  So  the  two  lions  finally  trotted  oS 
again  into  the  woods.” 

"But  that  wasn’t  the  adventure  you 
were  going  to  tell  me  about,  was  k?” 
asked  Mary,  a bit  disappointedly. 

"No,”  replied  Crane.  "The  advenmre 
happened  the  following  night.  Again  I 
was  lying  awake  listening  to  the  cries  of 
the  pair,  as  they  called  to  each  other  from 
range  to  range.  And  again  the  two  an- 
imak  met  between  the  farm  and  the  ltdce. 
But  this  time  their  cries  then  ceased. 
What  silent  devilment  were  they  up  to, 
I ¥«)ndered?  And  then  I heard  the  pump 
stop.  It  was  my  turn  to  go  down  to  the 
lake  and  fix  it.” 

"You  poor  dear,”  murmured  Mary. 
"How  old  were  you?” 

"Only  eleven.  Naturally  I was  scared 
to  death,  but  I had  to  go,  for  it  was  my 
turn.  I begged  each  of  the  other  farm- 
hands, one  by  one,  to  go  with  me,  but 
they  all  tefus^;  so  I lit  a lantern  and  set 
off  alone  through  the  woods.  Not  a 
sound  from  the  mountain  lions.  If  only 
they  would  howl,  so  that  I could  tell 
where  they  were,  and  what  they  were  up 
to!  But  they  kept  absolutely  silent.  Some- 
how I reached  the  lake  shore,  got  die 
pump  going  again,  and  started  bade  up 
the  road  toward  home.  I was  just  begin- 
ning to  recover  from  my  stupor  of  abjea 
terror,  when  upon  rounding  a curve  of 
the  path,  I saw  in  front  of  me  rwp  green 
spots  of  phosphorescent  light.  Instantly 


I st(^»ped  dead  in  my  tracks,  absolutdy 
petrifi^.” 

“I  can  well  believe  it,”  interjeaed  the 
girl.  "You  poor  little  kid!” 

E^.  Crane  continued:  "And  dien  the 
beast  came  towwd  me.  At  least  I judged 
that  he  was  coming  toward  me,  for  the 
two  phosphorescent  eyes  seemed  to  get 
wider  and  wider  apart.  In  an  attempt  at 
friglitening  him,  I swimg  my  lantern 
widely — ^and  the  lantern  went  out.  I was 
alone  in  die  darkness  with  that  thing  up 
die  road.  Yet  still  the  two  spots  of  light 
glowed,  even  thou^  there  was  now  no 
lantern  for  them  to  reflea.  Instinctively  I 
felt  that  this  was  strange,  but  I was  too 
scared  to  do  any  real  thinking  c«i  the  sub- 
jea.  Wider  and  wider  apart  got  die  two 
eyes.  'What  a huge  beast  this  must  be!’ 
I thou^t.  From  a distant  ridge  there 
came  the  blood-curdling  saeam  of  a lion. 
Fascinated,  I waited  for  the  beast  in  front 
of  me  to  answer  its  mate.  But  die  answer 
came  from  an  entirely  different  quarter, 
far  away.  'Can  there  be  tjbree  of  them.^’ 
I wondered.  And  then,  with  a flash  of  in- 
spiration, I stepped  fearlessly  forward, 
right  between  the  two  eyes  which  were 
facing  me.  They  were  nothing  but  two 
glow-worms  crawling  on  the  dirt  of  the 
road.” 

'Well  of  all  the  yarns!”  exclaimed 
Mary,  a bit  exasperated.  "Here  I have 
been  getting  up  a lot  of  sympathy  for  you, 
and  you  weren’t  any  more  in  danger  of 
being  eaten  alive  than  I am  right  now.” 

"But  I really  was  frightened,  terribly 
so,”  protested  the  young  doaor,  a bit 
apologaically. 

There  was  a pause,  while  the  two  sat 
and  watched  the  moonlight  on  the 
gently  swaying  treaops  of  the  moumain- 
side. 


WEIRD  TALES 


425 


Then  Mary  asked,  "You  have  spoken 
of  the  terrifying  scream  of  the  mountain 
lions.  What  was  it  like?  Can  you  de- 
scribe it  to  me?” 

"That’s  a pretty  big  order,”  laughed 
the  young  doaor,  "for  a lion’s  scream  is 
different  from  anything  ebe  I have  ever 
heard.  It’s  just  simply  horrible — makes 
the  hairs  stand  up  on  the  back  of  your 
neck,  and  brings  out  goose-pimples  all 
over  your  body.  ’The  nearest  thing  to  it 
that  I ever  heard  was  a little  child  once, 
shrieking  with  pain  in  a hospital.  It’s — 
it’s ” 

As  he  paused,  groping  in  hb  mind  for 
a simile,  the  calm  night  air  was  split  by 
one  single  ghostly  shriek,  coming  from 
the  woods  just  below  them  on  the  moun- 
tainside. 

Mary* s pale  face  turned  even  paler,  as 
she  sat  suddenly  erea  in  her  chair  and 
convubively  gripped  the  doaor’s  arm. 

"What — what  was  that,  Ralph?”  she 
gasped. 

"That,”  replied  he,  "was  a mountain 
lion.” 

Tensely  the  two  of  them  awaited  a 
repetition  of  the  sound.  But  it  never 
came.  That  single  fearsome  howl  was  the 
only  one. 

Gradually  they  relaxed  again. 

"What  will  you  do?”  asked  the  girl 
solicitously.  "I  can’t  bear  to  have  you  go 
home  through  the  woods,  now  that  thb 
has  happened.  You  might  meet  that — 
that  awful  thing.  And  I’m  scared  to  be 
left  here  alone  with  only  the  Fosses.  You 
must  stay  with  me,  Ralph.  Spend  the 
night.  Please  do.  Mrs.  Foss  can  fix  you 
up  a cot  somehow.” 

So  Dr.  Crane  spent  the  nigjht  in  Mary 
Morton’s  little  mountain  cabin. 

6.  Bats  and  Other  Things 

OF  COURSE,  when  Herman  Fulton 
learned  that  the  attraaive  young 
doaor  had  spent  the  night  in  Mary  Mor- 


IX  Novels 
for  $f  .00 


These  are  copyright  novels  well  known 
writers.  Printed  on  good  paper  with  iUuB- 
trated  covers. 

Thrilling  Mysteiy  Fiction 

Each  of  these  books  is  an  exciting 
mystery  or  detective  story.  Guaranteed  to 
hold  your  interest. 

And  you  get  the  entire  set  of  twelve 
novels  for  only  one  dollar!  There  is  no 
other  charge. 

Bat — you  most  aet  immediately!  The  supply 
ia  limited.  Right  now,  while  you  think  of  it. 
tear  out  this  adverUsement.  fill  in  the  coupon 
below,  and  return  to  us  with  $1.00  (coin,  stamps 
or  money  order).  The  complete  set  of  twelve 
novels  will  be  mailed  to  3^u  promptly,  postage 
prepaid. 


POPULAR  FICTION  PUBLISHING  CO.. 

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I Mcktee  $1.00.  Send  me  the  twelve  noveta 
postage  prepaid,  at  once.  This  $1.00  is  payment 
in  full. 

Address — - 

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426 


WEIRD  TALES 


ton’s  cabin,  he  was  furious.  Even  the 
faa  of  the  presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Foss 
in  the  cabin,  as  chaperones,  did  not  in  the 
least  mitigate  his  anger. 

His  fiancee  had  been  compromised!  He 
himself  had  been  made  ridiculous!  To  a 
banker  or  businessman  there  is  nothing 
worse  than  ridicule.  Many  a man  would 
let  his  business  go  to  smash  rather  than 
run  the  risk  of  ridicule  to  save  it;  and 
here  was  ridicule  to  no  praaical  end. 
Why,  it  might  even  result  in  a run  on  the 
bank! 

The  only  way  to  save  his  face  was  to 
take  some  drastic  action  at  once.  Ac- 
cordingly he  did.  He  asked  Dr.  Crane  to 
withdraw  from  the  case;  and  when  the 
doaor  refused  to  withdraw,  Herman  fired 
him.  Herman  was  in  a position  to  do 
this,  as  he  was  paying  the  bills.  Old  Dr. 
Porter  was  placed  in  charge,  instead. 

The  reason  for  the  change,  as  given 
out  to  such  persons  as  had  any  right  to 
ask,  was  that  Dr.  Crane  had  unduly  ter- 
rified his  patient  by  getting  her  off  in  a 
lonely  shack  in  the  mountains  and  then 
telling  her  ghost  stories.  Indeed,  Mary 
was  so  frightened  by  that  single  unex- 
plained piercing  scream  of  a mountain 
lion,  that  she  insisted  on  being  moved 
back  to  civilization  the  very  next  day. 
Altogether,  everything  fitted  in  to  make 
Herman’s  explanation  sound  most  plaus- 
ible. And  really  Dr.  Crane  was  open  to 
considerable  censure  for  telling  Mary  the 
lion  story  in  her  condition  and  location. 

He  accepted  his  removal  gracefully, 
and  conferred  lengthily  with  his  successor, 
who  brought  a new  viewpoint  to  the 
situation. 

Old  Dr.  Porter,  after  a rather  cursory 
examination  of  Mary  Morton  and  a study 
of  the  case-history,  announced,  '"This 
acute  anemia  appears  to  me  to  be  due  to 
some  cause  which  we  haven’t  yet  fath- 
omed. You  were  probably  taught  at 
Harvard  Medical  that  anemia  is  a disease, 


but  the  more  modem  theory  seems  to  be 
that  it  is  a mere  symptom,  the  result  of 
one  of  a large  number  of  varying  causes, 
many  of  which  have  been  run  to  earth, 
but  many  more  of  which  still  remain  un- 
explained.” 

The  younger  doaor  agreed. 

"I’ll  admit,”  said  he,  "that  you  older 
men  are  apt  to  be  more  progressive  than 
our  generation.  We  accept  as  gospel 
truth  what  we  were  taught  at  the  school, 
whereas  you  have  been  out  in  praaise 
long  enough  to  realize  how  little  is 
really  known  of  the  human  body.  Hence 
you  are  more  open-minded  to  new  ideas 
than  we.  Have  you  any  theory  as  to  the 
underlying  cause  of  Miss  Morton’s 
symptoms?” 

"Not  yet,”  replied  Dr.  Porter  judicious- 
ly, "but  I believe  that  I have  at  least  dis- 
cerned the  group  in  which  her  ailment 
falls.  Her  bloodlessness  seems  to  me  to 
be  due  to  some  organism,  some  creature 
that  is  sapping  her  strength.  I shouldn’t 
wonder ” 

He  paused  with  a bit  of  embarrassment, 
and  then  went  on,  "You  know,  years  ago 
when  I was  a young  man  just  out  of  col- 
lege, I made  a trip  to  the  Argentine.  One 
'of  the  horses,  on  a ranch  where  I was 
visiting,  was  taken  ill.  It  grew  weak  and 
emaciated.  During  the  da)^ime  it  would 
eat  ravenously  and  seem  to  pick  up 
strength.  But  every  morning  it  would  be 
weak  again.  I was  frankly  puzzled,  and 
was  interested  in  the  case  from  a medical 
viewpoint,  although  I had  never  felt  any 
leanings  toward  veterinary  praaise.  But 
my  host  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  accepted  the  situation  with  Spanish 
fatalism.  Also  he  did  not  seem  to  care  to 
discuss  the  case.  Whenever  I broached 
the  subjea,  he  would  avoid  it  with  a bit 
of  a shudder,  and  would  make  the  sign 
of  the  cross.  Most  of  the  ranch-hands 
aaed  the  same  way  about  the  matter. 
Finally  one  of  the  cowboys,  not  quite  so 


WEIRD  TALES 


427 


supersdcious  as  die  ochefs,  led  me  to  the 
horse  one  evening,  and  pointed  out  a huge 
bat — 'vampire-bats'  they  call  them — 
clinging  to  the  horse's  neck,  sucking  its 
life-blood." 

"There  has  been  such  a bat  around 
Yankton  all  summer,"  interrupted  young 
Crane.  “Caii  it  be- 

"Let  me  go  on  with  my  story,”  per- 
sisted Dr.  Porter.  "The  bat  fled  before  I 
could  get  my  hands  on  it.  I at  once  in- 
quired why  they  didn’t  keep  the  bat  away, 
but  the  cowboy  replied,  Tt  is  not  possible, 
senor,  for  once  a vampire  marks  its  vic- 
tim, the  victim  is  doomed.’  But  I myself 
am  not  a fatalist.  I insisted  on  putting 
the  poor  horse  at  once  into  a carefully 
screened  died.  Nevertheless  the  bat  got 
in  and  out,  and  the  horse  continued  to 
fail.  We  blocked  every  hole,  but  we 
could  not  cope  with  the  fiendish  ingenuity 
of  that  vampire.  So,  as  a last  resort,  I 
persuaded  my  friend  the  cowboy — by 
means  of  ’mucho  dinero’ — to  sit  up  with 
the  horse  and  guard  it  at  ni^t;  to  try  and 
shoot  the  bat,  if  he  got  a chance." 

"Did  that  work.^” 

"Yes,  it  did  for  a vdiile.  The  cowboy 
didn’t  even  see  the  bat  again.  The  horse 
rapidly  gained  in  strength,  and  I was  just 
about  to  taunt  the  Argentinos  that  the 
vampire  was  not  as  omnipotent  as  they 
seemed  to  think,  when  one  morning  I 
found  the  cowboy  asleep,  and  the  horse 
dead,  drained  nearly  bloodless!” 

"But,  doaor,"  objeaed  Crane,  "if  any- 
thing like  that  were  happening  to  Mary, 
she  would  know  it,  and  there  would  be 
marks  on  her  throat." 

"Are  you  sure  that  there  aren’t  marks 
on  her  throat?”  demanded  the  older  man, 
pointedly. 

"N-n-no!”  admitted  Crane.  "Have  you 
observed  any?” 

"I  haven’t  looked,”  Dr.  Porter  replied. 
"Tliis  idea  hadn’t  occurred  to  me  when  I 
first  examined  her.  And  now,  frankly,  I 


mxr  MONTH 

The 

DRUID’S  SHADOW 

By  SEABURY  QUINN 


A GRIPPING,  powerful  story  of  Druid 
sacrifice,  and  the  mystic  rites 
when  the  grim,  bearded  priests  tcx>k 
the  lives  of  beautiful  maidens  on  dieir 
stone  akars. 

JULES  DE  GRANDIN,  ghost-breaker, 
phantom  - fighter,  scientist  and 
occultist,  never  appeared  to  better  ad- 
vantage than  in  this  thrilling  tale.  If 
you  have  not  yet  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  this  most  fascinating  char- 
aaer  in  modern  fiction,  then  you  have 
a thrill  in  store  for  you  when  you  meet 
him  in  '"The  Druid’s  Shadow.”  TTiis 
story  will  be  published  complete  in  the 

October  Issue  of 

WEIRD  TALES 

Oft  Sale  September  1st 

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428 


WEIRD  TALES 


don’t  care  to  disturb  her,  in  her  present 
nervous  condition.  Nor,  for  the  same 
reason,  have  I mentioned  bats  to  her. 
But  we  shall  keep  a careful  watch,  from 
now  on.” 

"Well,  to  be  equally  frank  with  you, 
sir,”  asserted  young  Crane,  "I  don’t  place 
much  stock  in  your  bat  theory.  But  there 
have  been  a great  many  strange  carryings- 
on  in  Yankton  this  summer,  and  nothing 
would  surprize  me  very  much.  Certainly 
we  don’t  yet  know  what  is  the  underlying 
cause  of  Miss  Morton’s  illness.” 

So  Dr.  Porter,  following  out  his  hunch, 
next  interviewed  Mary’s  father  on  the 
subjea. 

"You  haven’t  seen  any  vampire-bats 
aroiuid  the  house,  have  you?”  he  asked 
abruptly. 

Pop  Morton’s  jaw  dropped,  for  he  sud- 
denly remembered  Herman’s  weird 
theories. 

"Vamp — vampire  what?”  he  gasped. 

It  was  Dr.  Porter’s  turn  to  become 
surprized,  for  Pop’s  confusion  was  clear- 
ly indicative  of  something. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?”  asked  the 
doaor. 

"Nothing.  Nothing,”  asserted  Pop, 
much  embarrassed.  "No,  I haven’t  seen 
any  bats  at  all.” 

And  nothing  more  could  Dr.  Porter 
pump  out  of  hinr,  except  the  repeated  as- 
sertion that  he  hadn’t  seen  any  bats.  Nor 
did  Pop  mention  the  conversation  to 
Herman  Fulton  until  much  later. 

Mary  continued  to  waste  away,  recov- 
ering a bit  sometimes  for  a week  or 
so  at  a stretch,  only  to  fall  still  lower  the 
next  time  that  a relapse  set  in. 

Meanwhile  Dr.  Crane’s  patients  stead- 
ily deserted  him,  one  by  one.  It  soon 
became  evident  to  the  young  doaor  that 
Herman  Fulton,  not  content  with  remov- 
ing him  from  the  Morton  case,  was  in- 
sidiously and  persistently  bringing  to  bear 


the  bank’s  influence  to  drive  him  out  of 
town,  until  at  last  the  day  came  when  the 
young  doaor  was  unable  to  mea  a pay- 
ment on  the  mortgage  on  his  own  estab- 
lishment, and  was  refused  an  extension 
by  the  banker. 

Fulton  then  placed  his  cards  on  the 
table  by  offering  a handsome  settlement 
for  the  equity,  if  Dr.  Crane  would  move 
out  of  town;  and  so  Dr.  Crane  moved. 

For  some  time  past,  one  of  the  New 
York  hospitals  had  been  angling  for 
Dr.  Crane’s  services,  and  now  he  accepted 
the  offer. 

Herman  magnanimously  permitted  him 
to  say  good-bye  to  Mary.  The  farewell 
was  touching,  though  brief.  Not  a word 
was  said  to  let  the  girl  know  that  Crane 
was  the  viaim  of  her  fiance’s  jealousy. 

"I’ve  a splendid  opening  in  New 
York,”  reported  the  young  doaor,  "and 
so  I am  reluaantly  leaving  Yankton  to 
take  it.  But  the  real  impelling  reason  is 
that  New  York  will  give  me  an  oppor- 
tunity to  read  up  on  anemia,  and  I hope 
to  find  out  some  way  of  curing  you.  If  I 
succeed,  I shall  be  very  glad  that  I left. 
In  any  event,  please  remember  that  I shall 
always  be  your  devoted  friend.  Please, 
please  call  on  me,  if  you  ever  need  help.” 

Seizing  her  hand,  he  held  it  tightly  for 
a moment,  and  then  left  abruptly.  There 
were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  both  of  them. 

IMMEDIATELY  On  his  arrival  at  his  new 
job.  Dr.  Crane  hunted  up  the  member 
of  the  hospital  staff  who  was  supposed  to 
know  the  most  about  anemia;  and  through 
his  suggestions,  plunged  into  a line  of 
evening  reading  in  the  medical  alcove  of 
the  New  York  Public  Library. 

He  wrote  Mary  Morton  once — ^merely 
a brief  note,  giving  her  his  address,  and 
expressing  a hope  that  she  was  better. 

It  was  not  long  before  a solution  of 
Mary’s  case  began  to  dawn  on  him.  He 
found  that,  as  old  Dr.  Porter  had  stated, 


WEIRD  TALES 


429 


the  modem  trend  of  opinion  is  that 
anemia  is  always  secondary.  He  found,  to 
his  surprize,  that  even  more  of  the  pri- 
mary causes  of  that  disease  had  been 
worked  out  and  pinned  down  than  Dr. 
Porter  had  intimated. 

The  enthusiastic  young  researcher  com- 
pared each  of  the  known  features  of  the 
girl’s  case-history  with  the  ear-marks  of 
each  of  these  various  primary  causes,  one 
by  one,  until  at  last  he  hit  upon  what 
seemed  to  him  to  be  luiquestionably  the 
uniquely  correa  solution. 

Dr.  Porter  had  been  very  nearly  right 
in  his  surmise.  There  was  now  a chance 
to  save  Mary.  So  Ralph  Crane  rushed  off 
the  following  letter  by  special  delivery: 

Dr.  Jeremiah  Poner, 

Yankton,  Pa. 

My  dear  old  friend, 

1 believe  that  I have  at  last  hit  upon  the  under- 
lying cause  of  Miss  Morton’s  condition.  Her 
symptoms,  her  case-history,  and  the  situation  at 
Yankton  seem  to  fit  the  specifications  exactly.  You 
were  quite  right  in  your  hunch  that  she  is  the  vic- 
tim of  a parasitic  organism,  but  I do  riot  believe 
that  it  is  a vampire-bat. 

The  books  describe  a form  of  anemia,  very 
similar  to  hers,  and  often  found  in  mining  com- 
munities. It  is  due  to  a parasitic  worm,  the 
ankylostomum  duodenale,  which  inhabits  damp 
places,  especially  underground  mines. 

The  symptoms  are  very  similar  to  those  of 
pernicious  anemia,  for  which  we  have  been  treat- 
ing her;  that  is  to  say,  successive  remissions  and 
relapses,  with  the  nervous  symptoms  very  marked. 

May  I suggest  santonin  for  a time,  in  place  of 
blaud? 

Let  me  know  how  the  dear  girl  is. 

Respeafully, 

Ralph  Crane,  M.  D. 


ShhKhhlift 

Shhhhhh 

Shhhh 


What  was  the  weird  cry  that  made 
Gloria  tremble?  What  phantom 
sought  to  lead  the  supposed  Van 
Mortimer,  king  of  Wall  Street,  to  a 
weird  coffin? 

A mystery  story  that  defies  im^- 
ination  in  its  unusual  treat  of  being 
truly  unusual. 


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Then  anxiously  he  awaited  an  answer. 
It  came  back  two  days  later  by  wire: 


Diagnosis  too  late.  Mary  died  Moriday.  Fuueral 
three  o’clock  tomorrow. 


J.  Porter. 


7.  Haunted 


IT  WAS  already  "tomorrow”  when  the 
telegram  arrived,  announcing  Mary 
Morton’s  death.  Crane,  stunned  and 
heartbroken  by  the  news,  hailed  a taxicab 
and  rushed  to  the  Pennsylvania  station, 


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WEIRD  TALES 


only  to  find  that  there  was  no  train  which 
could  possibly  get  him  to  Yankton  in  time 
for  the  funeral.  So  he  sent  some  flowers 
by  telegraph,  and  gave  himself  up  to  an 
afternoon  of  bitter  recrimination. 

He  had  failed  the  girl  he  loved.  Oh, 
if  he  had  but  woriced  faster  and  to  more 
purpose,  and  had  found  out  the  cause  of 
her  trouble  before  diat  knowledge  was 
too  late  to  save  her!  Of  course,  his  diag- 
nosis mi^t  not  be  correa;  and  even  if 
correa,  it  might  not  have  enabled  him  to 
cure  her.  But  there  had  been  a chance, 
and  that  chance  was  now  lost  forever. 

Later  a letter  arrived  from  Dr.  Porter, 
but  it  didn’t  throw  mudi  more  li^t  on 
the  situation.  Marks  and  blood  had  been 
found  on  Mary’s  throat,  but  the  girl  had 
insisted  that  diey  had  been  due  to  her 
scratching  a particularly  vexatious  wood- 
tide  bite,  which  she  had  acquired  in  the 
mountain  cabin.  A constant  guard  had 
been  set  over  her,  but  no  bat  or  other 
animal  had  approached  her,  except  a 
stray  black  cat  which  had  jumped  over  her 
bed  on  the  day  of  her  death.  The  huge 
gray  bat  had  been  seen  around  town  occa- 
sionally, but  not  near  the  Morton  house. 
It  all  sounded  rather  banal  and  silly,  when 
set  down  in  black  and  white  on  p^>er; 
but,  in  view  of  the  previous  conference 
between  the  two  'doctors.  Dr,  Porter  said 
that  he  felt  duty-bound  to  state  all  these 
details.  He  expressed  no  opinion  about 
die  ankylostomum  duodende,  except  to 
thank  Dr.  Crane  for  the  suggestion,  and 
to  eiqiress  an  appreciation  for  die  young- 
er man’s  zeal,  persistency  and  thorou^- 
ness  at  research.  All  of  which  was  most 
unsatisfying. 

Young  Crane  was  crushed,  stunned 
and  broken-hearted.  His  Maty  was  dead! 
His  Mary  was  dead! 

At  last  he  realized  that  what  he  had 
mistaken  for  merely  warm  affection  for 


the  girl,  had  really  been  love.  Oh,  if  he 
had  but  realized  this  in  time! 

It  was  his  fault!  Her  deadi  'was  all  his 
fault!  He  ou^t  to  have  asserted  himself, 
have  declared  his  love,  and  have  dragged 
her  away  from  Yankton  to  New  York, 
where  she  could  have  had  adequate  medi- 
cal attention. 

For  about  a week,  he  drove  his  numbed 
brain  and  weary  body.  During  working 
hours,  his  hospital  duties  afforded  him 
some  measure  of  forgetfulness  of  his 
grief;  but  at  ni^t  diere  was  no  relief. 
He  walked  many  miles  every  evening. 
Then  he  would  lie  awake  in  bed,  the 
prey  of  bitter  reaimination,  imtil  at  last 
sleep  came,  but  not  oblivion,  for  even  his 
sleep  was  tortured  by  dreams  of  what 
might  have  been. 

And  then  one  night,  about  midnight, 
he  suddenly  awakened  with  a feeling  that 
there  was  someone  in  his  r(x>m.  He  was 
thoroughly  fri^tened,  even  before  he 
started  to  awake;  and  yet  he  could  not 
remember  any  dream  vi^ich  could  be  re- 
sponsible for  this  feeling.  Merely  he 
waked  up  already  scared,  and  with  no 
apparent  cause. 

The  room  was  quite  light  from  the  re- 
flection of  an  advertising  sign  near  by, 
and  so  he  could  distinctly  see  everything 
in  the  room.  By  the  foot  of  the  bed  there 
st(X)d  a young  girl  clad  in  white,  smiling 
down  on  him. 

It  was  Maty — or  Mary’s  ghost!  But  it 
couldn’t  be  her  ghost,  for  there  are  no 
such  things  as  ^osts.  So  it  must  be  Mary 
herself.  But  Mary  was  dead.  But  she 
couldn’t  be  dead,  for  here  she  was.  What 
was  she  doing  in  New  York  City?  And 
in  his  room!  And  at  this  time  of  night! 
His  Mary,  at  last!  Could  it  be  true? 

"Mary!”  he  gasped. 

"Yes,  Ralph,”  the  figure  replied,  "it  is 
Mary.  I have  come  to  you  for  help,  be- 
cause Herman  doesn’t  seem  to  under- 
stand. Night  after  night  I have  tried  to 


WEIRD  TALES 


431 


get  Herman  to  help  me;  but  he  only 
cringes,  and  makes  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
and  says  horrid  things  to  me,  which  I 
don’t  understand.  He  calls  me  'undead’. 
Of  course  I’m  undead!  I’m  alive,  as  alive 
as  you  are;  but  somehow  he  says  the  word 
’undead’  as  though  it  meant  something 
else,  something  terrible  and  unclean.  I 
can’t  understand  him,  and  he  refuses  to 
understand  me.  But  you  will  help  me, 
won’t  you?  You  promised  me,  you 
know.” 

"Of  course  I’ll  help  you,  Mary  dear!” 
he  exclaimed.  "But  what  are  you  doing 
in  New  York?  Just  step  into  my  sitting- 
room  for  a moment,  until  I get  some 
clothes  on.” 

She  smiled  wanly. 

"I’m  not  in  New  York,  Ralph,”  she 
replied.  "I’m  buried  six  feet  deep  in  a 
cold  dark  grave  in  the  Yankton  cemetery. 
But  I’m  not  dead.  I’m  sure  of  that.  Some- 
times I lie  for  hours  in  that  awful  padded 
coffin.  Sometimes  I sleep.  Sometimes  I 
lose  my  hfad,  and  shriek  and  struggle  in 
the  darkness,  trying  to  tear  the  box  away 
and  get  out.  And  sometimes  I think  very 
calmly  and  steadily  of  some  place,  usually 
Herman’s  room,  until  suddenly  I find  my- 
self there.  Then  I plead  with  him  to  help 
me;  but  he  repulses  me,  and  drives  me 
back  into  the  grave  again.  I feel  that  I 
can’t  stand  it  much  longer.  Either  my 
strength  or  my  wits  will  give  out,  and 
then  I shall  be  really  dead.” 

It  was  quite  clear  to  Dr.  Crane  that  the 
poor  girl  was  out  of  her  mind.  She  had 
probably  been  in  a cataleptic  trance,  had 
escaped  from  the  coffin  on  the  very  eve 
of  burial,  and  had  closed  and  locked  the 
box,  perhaps  even  filling  it  with  books 
so  that  her  absence  would  not  be  noticed. 
Insane  people  are  quite  often  diabolically 
clever  in  such  ways.  He  remembered, 
from  his  recent  extensive  reading,  that 
anemia  often  results  in  either  catalepsy  or 


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insanity,  so  why  not  both?  It  was  the  only 
plausible  solution! 

His  heart  went  out  to  her  in  a wave  of 
masculine  proteaiveness.  Here  was  a 
diance  for  him  to  give  to  the  girl  he 
loved  the  expert  hospital  care  which  she 
had  lacked  in  Yankton,  and  to  restore  to 
her  both  her  health  and  her  sanity.  Then 
let  Herman  try  and  get  her  away  from 
him! 

As  the  young  doaor  groped  in  his 
mind  for  soothing  words  to  quiet  her  hys- 
teria, she  spoke  again,  "You  will  help  me, 
won’t  you,  Ralph?  I frighten  poor  dear 
Herman  so!  He  is  beginning  to  get  pale 
and  anemic  just  like  I was.  Last  night  he 
had  another  man  sleeping  with  him,  and 
so  I can’t  go  there  any  more.  It  em- 
barrasses me.” 

"Of  course  I’ll  help  you,”  reassured- 
Dr.  Crane.  "Now  if  you’ll  just  sit  down 
for  a moment  in  the  next  room.  I’ll  be 
right  with  you.” 

"Thank  you,  Ralph,”  said  she.  "Good- 
bye. Come  quidkly!  Very  quiddy!” 

He  rubbed  his  eyes.  She  was  no  longer 
there!  And  yet  he  had  not  seen  her  leave 
the  room. 

Dr,  Crane  got  up  and  dressed,  and 
walked  die  streets  of  New  York  until 
morning.  He  did  not  date  to  go  to  sleep 
again,  and  thus  establish  the  possibility 
that  he  had  merely  dreamed  what  had 
just  happened  to  him. 

He  was  standing  eagerly  on  the  steps 
of  the  Public  Library  when  it  opened  at 
nine  o’clock.  As  die  doors  were  unlocked, 
he  rushed  to  the  medical  stacks,  where  he 
plunged  into  a new  line  of  reading, 
namely,  "cataiepdc  trances," 

By  noon  a smile  of  grim  determination 
had  settled  over  his  features,  and  he  had 
wired  to  Dan  Callahan,  the  Yankton  taxi- 
driver,  to  meet  him  at  die  Limited. 

The  startling  events  at  the  opening  of  Marp  Mor- 
ton's Krave  will  be  described  in  the  closing  chapters 
of  this  story  in  next  month's  WEIRD  TALES. 

W.T.— 9 


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